faderift | C'est la vie

Entry tags:

C'est la vie

WHO: Christine + OPEN
WHAT: A catch up post.
WHEN: Kingsway 8th to the start of Harvestmere
WHERE: Skyhold + off somewhere with Korrin
NOTES: Mention of the death of a loved one possible?

Part of her wishes she could have stayed with her mother, but now that Maman was living with Uncle Pierre, Christine knew she was safe (and that her uncle wouldn't want a mage in his house). Besides, she has her duties to the Inquisition as a healer and a researcher of red lyrium. When she returns, she plans to throw herself back into her work, but the new addition to her life has other plans.

{ adventures in dog-sitting }
The dog is her mother's. She repeats this to anyone who asks after the lively little fellow, lest they think she actually chose to adopt him of her own volition. Oh, no. This duty was put on her by a woman blubbering into her handkerchief, asking what was to become of her precious Poncelet because her brother wouldn't allow her to bring him. Uncle Pierre is a real ass. But Christine takes this very seriously despite her dislike of ill-behaved canines. She watches little Ponce like a hawk, and it takes awhile for her to warm to the idea of anyone else looking after him. But she does give in because she needs to work without a yapping dog at her heels. One day finds her marching after the prancing dog holding a broken leash in one hand.

"Ponce, sit. Sit." But every time she approaches to try and catch him, the dog scrambles further back, thinking it's a game. The poor thing has spent its life with a sickly woman who never played more than tug-of-war with him. It's time to have some fun.

{ at the healing tents }
It's business as usual for this healer. Christine spents her day attending to patients, both bedridden and walk ins. When not doing that, she can be found in a tent with an opened flap, mixing up potions or poultices. It's quiet, repetitive work that leaves far too much time for thinking. Thinking about her father and the opportunity she missed to ever know him. She has gotten most of her tears out, but at times she stares off into space, tears collecting in the corners of her eyes. Sometimes Ponce can be seen sleeping on a pillow in the corner, his leash looped under a chair leg so he doesn't run away. Whenever someone enters, however, he wakes up and starts barking at the stranger.

{ creating a spirit blade }
Once she returns from visiting her mother, Christine throws herself into as much as possible, and one of those things is becoming a Knight-Enchanter. She's watched Korrin wield her blade and has seen how long her barrier can sustain itself. It's something she wants to pursue, so she makes contact with Commander Helaine and is impressed with her forward manner. She's instructed on the book to read and given two kinds of items she must collect to form her spirit blade. The reading comes first, naturally. And once she's understood everything written, she and Korrin head out to gather the supplies. First is the Exalted Plains for lazurite. No one can blame her for putting off a return to the Fallow Mire for wisp essence.

{ learning to ride a horse }
Another skill Christine wants to have is learning to ride on her own. She knows it's terribly inconvenient to always be asking others on missions to let her ride with them. Her first lesson is with one of Master Dennet's apprentices and she's grateful he starts her out on a very tame mare. She does her best to follow instructions, but can't help being stiff on the horse's back for fear of falling off. If others approach, her voice is high and breathy as if she may be in danger of passing out or at the very least shrieking at any unexpected movement.

Once the lesson is over and her feet are on solid ground again, she's more amenable to chatting and explaining why she wishes to learn.

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Yngvi does not, as a rule, absolutely hate doglords but sometimes you have to just put your foot down. And if you want to mark a point where Kirkwall went to shit (dogshit, to be precise) it was when the doglords came in their droves. So. All the same, he misses Asher - who wasn't a doglord, he came before that, with money, and all his Avvar stuff and jobs - and Asher's dog. Bronson was a great lad, top bloke. Old boy needed his rest and that's why he's just--

Okay well Stroganugg sits? Yngvi did not know that his little shadow companion would do that, odd. Could be a money-spinner if he plays his cards right though.

Still, he needs to say something and that's Christine, and her and Asher had a thing, and he should go reintroduce himself. Which he does so by asking, in his most curious yet horrified tone: "What the fuck is that?"

Christine sighs as the bit of fur with eyes turns and starts barking at Yngvi. The weird short person sounds hostile. Is he hostile? Ponce will bark to show him who's in charge here.

"Apparently it is a dog, but I am not yet convinced it is not some type of small demon." Because this little nuisance wakes her up at the crack of dawn by pouncing on her or -- Maker forbid -- licking her face. He's constantly prancing away when she tries to get close to pick him up, and he's turned up his nose at most of the food she's tried to feed him. This is the ultimate test on her patience.

You know what, Yngvi will help. He will bark back. He is bigger than you small pretender, and he will also growl because that's how you do the top dog thing, Asher used to do it with Bronson all the time. Only this little shit would probably bite him if he tried to wrestle it so he just keeps growling then remembers that Christine is probably going to expect an answer.

One last bark. Yeah, who is the big dog now furbag, it is Yngvi Congealedinagutterson you overgrown pair of ears.

"Nah, not a demon, doesn't have the mind for a demon. Now a cat maybe, I've met some cats in my day growing up but that? Good boot up the arse and I reckon it'd show you his belly but a cat would eat your foot for trying it." Look you wouldn't believe the ferals in Darktown, the size of the things that survived being eaten because let's face it, doglords have no respect, no respect at all. "Does it have a name, this...look I think every nug but Stroganugg was bigger than your walking fluff propped up on legs."

This is very close to giving her a headache. Thankfully Yngvi quits while Ponce keeps backing up, body shaking and growling for all he's worth. That brings him close enough to Christine that she's able to swoop down and capture him before he gets away from her again.

"I do not want to hit him," she says, the dog realizing he's no longer allowed to play and relaxing a little in her arms. "And his name is Ponce. My mother named him. She calls him--" And hear she imitates her mother, who has a more theatrical way of speaking, "My little Poncelet." Said as Ponce-lay in the Orlesian fashion.

What a ridiculous creature. A fennec is bigger perhaps. Maybe he should compare them. Weren't they super trendy once or was that just another scam someone ran, he doesn't know, he wasn't involved, that was just the Satinalia letter from everywhere that was read to everyone with gusto. He had an ear full of mashed potato.

(It was a good dinner.)

"Kick. Not hit. Different things." But the elaboration on the vast gaping chasm of difference is lost when he nearly topples over, wheezing on a choked laugh. "What? Tell me you were drunk. Asher said you weren't one of them sorts of Orlesians like we knew in Kirkwall, that's what de Launcet would call her dogs but she'd get drunk and they'd eat her face so that's why she doesn't have dogs."

Probably.

Christine merely gives him a surprised look. Maybe he still has mashed potatoes in his ears.

"I said my mother named him, not I. Were it up to me, I would not have gotten a dog in the first place, but she did, and now I am stuck with him."

"Everything stopped after the name. Like when you get in the head and the gut all at once and it's just roaring in your ears. So why did your mother, seeing as you actually do have some sense because you could talk some into Asher, name a dog that." He's not going to try saying it, he'd just collapse on the floor and a farting noise would come out. "And I'm not convinced that's a dog. Someone pulled a fast one on her. Can't trust folk, know someone that said he was selling ratcatchers, he was selling oversized rats. They ate him."

Christine rolls her eyes because no way oversized rats ate someone. She is not falling for that, you fool. Not that it will stop him from telling her more outrageous lies, but she's not going to believe any of them. Asher couldn't do it, so the pint-sized version of him won't either.

"I never asked. I doubt the answer would satisfy in any case." Besides, Christine really doesn't know her mother's ways very well yet. They only just reunited for the first time in fifteen years. "I had no contact with her while I was in the Circle. I am only learning who she is now."

Have you ever been to Kirkwall Christine? Been going through the tunnels to find like seventeen rats all with the meat sweats? No. No you haven't. You haven't nodded politely then bricked the tunnel back up because some things you just leave alone.

"Why? Is this a human thing? What does it even mean? It's too much name for a little dog for a start." Asher is responsible for Yngvi's surname so we can't really say anything unless we want to speak ill of the dead now can we but Yngvi is perfect for someone Yngvi-sized, same as Gunnar. "D'you not write? Used to smuggle letters for mages back in Kirkwall sometimes, if they spoke nice to us, harder than sorting lyrium out let me tell you."

"No. I never heard of letter smugglers at my Circle. I wasn't allowed to write, and my parents were told any letter they would try to write would not be given to me." And so they couldn't learn how she was doing, and she couldn't know how life moved on at home. In fact, it was no longer her home; the Circle was.

"Of course, if you were rich, you were allowed to go home to visit, because the Circle would not say no to a bunch of nobles throwing money their way." One of the many things she hated about the Circle system. If you played the Game and became some noble's little pet, you would be able to claw your way out of the Circle. If you were rich, you could swan off whenever you wanted. And if you were Madame de Fer, you could have your own apartments outside the Circle (which is why Christine really, really doesn't like her).

"Were you ever caught smuggling letters by the Templars?"

"I know that sometimes they used to have mages entertain people but I don't see what's so entertaining about it. I mean, it's funny watching someone running around in a fight because Amalia's set them on fire and they run into the next bloke and the next, and then there's arrows, and then I've laid down traps and Ash--" He cuts himself off fast enough he bites down hard on his tongue, mouth filling with blood that he turns to the side and spits out, rubbing a hand over his face, smile still almost the same. "Templars are only good for when they want more of the good sweet blue, and even then you need to watch 'em."

Some of the folk Yngvi knows met bad ends from Templars wanting that stuff. He doesn't really trust an awful lot of folk. Might like them, might stick to them like a limpet, but doesn't trust them.

Snorting, he recovers himself, edging closer to Ponce with mabari crunch because it was always a habit to have that. Because there was Bronson and Yngvi has never been in the habit of emptying his pockets. Doesn't look like a dog but she says it is, and he misses the old boy something rotten even if it's best for all if Aura's got him, safe up in a mountain with him. "Yeah well, that's nobles and the Chantry, all corrupt as each other, cut into it and it might look nice and shiny as a new apple but it's black and rotten in the middle, heaving with worms. Me? Got caught once. Said I was a half Dalish on account of the good looks and that my clan would come hunting me down, I'll be the one to lead them to Arlathan again because I know where the lyrium is even topside. Let me go fast after that."

Yngvi got caught once. Bit the Templar so hard that the man lost two fingers from an infection and almost the whole hand. Ran like the Void itself were chasing him and got praised by the gruffest dwarf. Didn't get any supper though, on account of being caught. Fair is fair after all.

Christine knows all about mages being "loaned out" to entertain the nobles. She had ignored her instructors who brought up the topic to them, while others were so excited at the prospect of escaping for a night that they would happily act no better than a trained monkey. And the hypocrites who believed mages were dangerous and should be locked away would admire the silly little show of conjured images before telling the mages to get back to their Circle. Christine refused to endure such humiliation on the off chance she could catch someone's eye and become their pet mage.

But the anger and frustration simmering below the surface at thoughts of this dissipate quickly when Yngvi starts to say Asher's name. Her eyes lower and she feels that ache in her chest that refuses to budge. Asher should be here, making fun of her dog and telling her a story about some huge Avvar canine large enough to ride into battle. He should be stroking her hair and telling her about his people and their gods. Her nose starts to sting and she curls her toes tight in her boots, telling herself to stop. And the admonishment works. She collects herself and nods along to what Yngvi is saying. There are some Templars here who have surprised her, but those that hunted down mages after the rebellion were drunk on power and lyrium.

Ponce sniffs at the treat from Christine's arms before reeling back his head to avoid it. She sighs and reaches for the treat. "I will make sure he eats it. He is a picky eater. He would not eat the mabari treat Inessa tried to give him either, but I cannot coddle him with such limited resources here." Basically Ponce will learn to like it or starve, and she's quite sure that he won't take the second option. There is only so much bread and apples she can feed this little nightmare before enough is enough and he needs to start eating what the other dogs here eat.

She shakes her head, trying not to look like that was a good idea of his, but who is she kidding? A smile slips through. "Templars are gullible. Probably even more than mages. We are each locked away and told what to believe, but at least mages are not addicted to lyrium. Say the word 'lyrium' to a Templar, and they will believe anything." Yes, some Templars here are all right. They even came with her to hunt Red Templars. But old wounds run deep and the Templars at Montsimmard liked to sneer that she shouldn't bother training as a healer because no normal person would let her heal them magically anyway. She would never be allowed out of the Circle, so she was wasting her time. Showed them, didn't she?

What if you missed out on the good nibbles though. That's like the only reason to go to the fancy parties. Okay that and doing work because Yngvi has done so many things at fancy parties when he's not just inhaling the food (the food is better than the drink, Yngvi will drink things that'd strip the paint off walls if offered, and fancy drink is honestly awful most of the time, it gets you drunk but at what cost) but nibbles. Seriously, you have been missing out on some fun missus.

Only those parties were fun with Asher. Because he made a point to be obnoxious the whole time, rolled Yngvi through nobles to send them flying like bowling pins, same with Gunnar. Maybe they'll be fun again with new people just never quite the same as they were. Unless they bring Christine's snooty little dog because what dog says no to a mabari crunch.

"What a spoiled brat. I've eaten nothing but that when the pickings were slim. Wouldn't feed these to the doglords but I'd give them to you mate," Yngvi says, pointing sternly but well out of snapping distance in case the little ratbag decides it wants to try dwarven finger sausage. A delicacy.

"Templars have their brains halfway to leaking out their ears." Says a dwarf who has smuggled plenty of lyrium so he does know the type, does know what it can do to a person but it's their choice so why should he care if they want to keep at it when it put food on the table and a blade in his hand? "Right? Got someone to strip down starkers for me more than once. Trading your clothes for lyrium. Though, reckon Circles would've been interesting that way."

"My mother did spoil him, yes. I do not intend to." But she will take good care of him, for her mother's sake. First the woman lost her husband, then her house and her dog. Christine is determined to make the separation as painless as possible.

Are they gossiping about Templars now? Oh, she likes this. Too many buried feelings on them over the long years of being locked up.

"They traded their clothes? Maker, I cannot imagine how they explained to their fellow Templars that they had nothing to wear but armor."

"Awww, need to give him a bit. Once he doesn't think he's the emperor of Orlais or summat." Maybe life would be easier if Gaspard and Celene were this size and they could just kick them off a mountain along with all the nonsense. What a fine life that would be, yeah? "Course, Bronson was just a big lump, did as he was told. Shame he didn't have a few days with all my nugs, they'd have sorted him right out."

Stroganugg almost nods in agreement. Stroganugg is the wise one.

With a laugh, Yngvi swings up on his toes to be nearer a height with her because seriously, she's tall, is there something he can climb to be eye level around here? "Well they were three sheets to the wind so I don't know if they could even explain. Someone was asking for Petunia. Or was it Myrtle...some dreadful name. Said we'd be married in the spring but I mean what would I get out of that? Only marrying me for my lyrium and nothing else, me with some idiot that sells me his armour and skirts. Mind you, that's good stitching, so y'know, it's worth getting them out of it and running. People pay plenty for that sort of good quality stitching and fabric."

He's not the only one to tell her that Ponce needs time to adjust. It's good to have any advice at this time, because she is clueless when it comes to dogs.

Well, there are always crates lying around, Yngvi. Try one of those if you wish to be taller.

"I would have bought it all too because it would give me a laugh to know the trouble they would be in." Look, Christine doesn't know the torment Templars go through without their lyrium. Mages drink it and immediately their bodies burn it off. There's nothing left to get addicted to, and it's not like Templars are writing stirring autobiographies about their struggles.

A crate is provincial Christine. He is a loftier dwarf. (Or Liadan read something like that to him once when they were all bored on a ship and Yngvi got hurled overboard and had to be fished out by Nasir.)

"See, right, thing is," okay let him figure out how to word this good for her. "Right, my understanding of the whole thing is that they're not all the same ages yeah? You've got old Templars and young Templars and lots of in-between Templars all clanking about with brooms and their self-righteousness stuffed up them so, it's not like they don't know what happens. I mean they see each other. No one can be that stupid."

Only he continues on. "Did sell someone water with blue dye in it. Probably did about the same, it was cloth dye, not cake dye. But like, it were up to him."

"There are older Templars," Christine confirms. "But no old Templars that I ever saw. We used to say they were forced into retirement before the grew too mad, but from the way some of them acted, they were not retired soon enough." Lyrium makes Templars crazy. That much she knows. It also makes them desperate for more lyrium. Beyond that, she doesn't know.

"Well, he was not dispelling any mage's spells with cloth dye in his body; that is for sure."

Yngvi is younger than he seems. Mid-thirties could be ancient to him as he pulls a face. "They look old. Look older than any of my many grandfathers and great-uncles however many times I need to remove them to make them uncles. I suppose it does explain the pies though."

Do you want to be a brave mage and ask about the pies Christine?

"He was dispelling something. From himself. It was very blue. Royal blue and all, no one can say we cheated him." Actually they can but like, they cheated him good and proper so it's all fair in his mind.

Is "unsure" an acceptable answer?

"Ah, that is true." She should be scandalized by this like a good Orlesian, but it happened to a Templar and she just can't muster any sympathy. Oh, well.

"But what do old Templars have to do with pies?" Now she's gone and done it. She asked the question.

The sensible answer but you're talking to Yngvi so that went flying out the window because he swung a trap on a chain at it like a tiny badass.

"Just saying that sometimes in Kirkwall you don't know what's in the pies. Especially if a doglord made them. Used to be lots of cats but then there weren't, and like...meat is meat. Tough meat, and some of the gangs used to whisper really weird things when you met them. Or stumbled over some of them going about the undercity. Things with lyrium in the juices would do that I reckon."

Well that's unsettling. Especially since she helped Avery in the kitchens to make a meat pie. But she's sure the Fereldan didn't use cat meat, right?

Right?

"Now that makes me wonder if nugs that run around the Deep Roads have lyrium in their meat." She frowns and gives Ponce a little bounce in her arms. "What do you think? Would a Fereldan lower himself to making a dog pie if there was nothing else, or would he starve first and let his dog eat him?"

These are the important questions, okay?

Oh Christine, dear sweet Circle-educated Christine you keep talking and providing him with more opportunities to open his lying mouth.

"Few times," he begins with that sort of shifty look about before he gets into the tale, the kind of 'you keep this to yourself because it's worth more than our lives' quality to his voice all communicated through how he lowers his eyebrows. "We did some jobs for the ones that stick about up near Orzammar. And they're just a weird sorry breed, don't talk about them like embarrassing cousins - you're Orlesian, bet you've got embarrassing cousins somewhere - anyway few times we'd get messages. Come pick up this shipment. I was a lad, small lad, fetch and carry boy, the young scamp years but I remember seeing these crates because lyrium gets carted about all special like because it's lyrium, got to be careful."

Everyone knows what happens when things with lyrium goes tits up. You're going to have a bad time. Especially in Kirkwall.

"Thing is, it came in crates. Just normal crates but I knew what lyrium looked like. It squeaked. Just like a nug and me, being a young scamp, and Gunnar - you mind my brother, Gunnar, course you do, he's the less charming and handsome version of me - we had a look. And it was a nug but not like any nug I've ever seen. Had these...not spikes or growths but crystals? I was young, it was years ago, I didn't touch them but I think that's what they looked like. They were growing out it, all down the back." His hands shape the air as he speaks, moving over an imaginary curve as his face takes on a haunted expression, as if what he saw all those years ago (not that many, he's not very old even if he doesn't know the exact numbers) has scarred him in some way.

Then the spell is broken because that's a really good question Christine. "I don't know actually. Reckon it should be asked though. To assess the character of folk."

Christine's lips purse, but she doesn't know her cousins at all, besides one being allergic to dogs and being the reason Ponce couldn't go with her mother. The woman has moved in with her brother's family, and that niece is why this tiny ball of fur is with Christine now.

"Whatever happened to it, I doubt such was a common occurrence or word would have spread." This story sounds believable because those crystallized growths have shown up on Templars, only in red, not blue.

The curiosity she has at wanting to know about a Fereldan's loyalty to his dog is warring with her sense of decency. It's not a very nice question to ask someone, is it? Especially someone she doesn't know well. But, wait. She has the King of Inappropriate Questions right here.

"I can think of no one better to ask than you. You are not shy about your struggles in Kirkwall. Surely no one would deny you an answer to such a hypothetical question, especially asked by someone who has done anything to survive."

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C'est la vie

that is not a dog, that's just fur you stuck a lead on lady (he knows, he's pulled that con before)

i can't believe you fit all that in a subject line without it cutting off

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