[closed] a public service

[onlyhymns]

WHO: Cade and Alistair
WHAT: one or possibly both of the above getting pushed in mud
WHEN: after the move
WHERE: the Kirkwall docks
NOTES: filth

"And there's... it's different, there are so many just walking around who... who shouldn't be, and I don't even know who's supposed to be running this place anymore."

The move to Kirkwall has done bad things to Cade's nerves, and though he's wisely been kept from the Gallows for the time being, that doesn't mean the whole city isn't still a reminder of how badly things can go. He's been mostly helping out with the cleaning and construction in the dockyards, a veritable sea of the kinds of faces he never thought he'd encounter inside any city, let alone Kirkwall.

"Is it us? Captain Vallen? She never could keep her people together." He's muttering an anxious stream of consciousness to Alistair, one of the few people in the vicinity with whom his interaction isn't an explosion waiting to go off. And Cade has thoughts. Lots of them. In quick succession.

Comments

[byblow]

"Mmmhm."

Alistair isn't only half listening. He had been fully listening, at first, as part of his grand project to Be Cade's Friend and do his small part to Keep Him From Losing It, but there are so many words coming out of Cade's face, and most of them are ridiculous. It's very hard. Especially when he also has to give some attention to the very important and vital task of peeling splinters of wood off a pole he found in the street while they walk.

It's a good pole. Sturdy. He's going to keep it.

Belatedly, after a moment to actually process the words he hadn't been fully paying attention to, he adds, "They do have a Viscount or something, you know."

[onlyhymns]

"Oh, yes, a viscount," Cade mutters with a roll of his eyes, "because Viscount Dumar was so effective, he did so well." Before he lost his head, in a way everyone wished was figurative and was disappointed. "Nobody can control anything that happens here, and the Inquisition won't be any different," he persists anxiously, "the mages will do what they want, more than ever, the qunari will... well who knows, who knows who'll try to kill everyone and take over this time."

[byblow]

"I do hate it when mages do whatever they want," Alistair says. It's a dry, drawling lie. "Maybe the dwarves will take a turn. They haven't tried to kill everyone and take over anything in a while."

Ahead, there's a large patch of watery mud. Alistair's eyes stick on it and narrow—with interest, not yet calculation. It's like seeing a Chantry sister leave her office door unlocked. He doesn't know what he's going to do with it yet, exactly, but there is immediate certainty that he is going to do something. Something. In approximately seven steps.

"If the new Arishok brings his people back," he adds in the meantime, "I'll protect you. He's a friend of mine."

[onlyhymns]

"..do you think--" Cade begins, then realizes with dismay that Alistair is being sarcastic. "...well perhaps it's not the popular opinion these days, but mages doing what they want does tend to result in more deaths and overall chaos." That's what Templars are for! That's the job he's been prevented from doing, and now that they're back in Kirkwall, that lapse has become all the more egregious.
"Of course he is," he mutters unhappily, "you'd be friends with Dumat if he laughed at your jokes." Self-censorship isn't Cade's forte when he's anxious, or rather... when he does it he does it too well, and when he doesn't he doesn't at all.

[byblow]

Maybe he'll stick his amazing new pole in the mud and use it to write on the wall. Nothing crude. Something uplifting! Hang in there Kirkwall! A Qunari and a human holding hands. Does Thedas have a universal symbol of peace? Maybe—

But Cade is still talking, when they come alongside the mud, and specifically saying something that causes a very small and inconsequential Hurt Feeling to pang in Alistair's chest. It only lasts a moment. But a moment is all he needs to glance sideways at Cade, mouth screwed to one side and eyes verging on a glare, and instead jam the end of the pole into the ground in front of him, the length of it crossing near his shins.

Just in case that isn't enough, Alistair hip checks him, too.

Bye.

[onlyhymns]

bye

Cade pitches facefirst into the mud with an elegant splash, and though he's quick to push up on his hands so he doesn't drown, he kneels there sputtering in shock for several moments.
Then, as the pieces slowly come together, he looks up at Alistair with an expression of utter betrayal.
"You did that on purpose!"

[byblow]

As soon as it's clear that Cade isn't dead—not the plan—Alistair's attention shifts down to his own boots and trousers, which caught some of the splatter. He doesn't care very much, but it handily contributes to how totally unconcerned and unapologetic he seems when he says, "What? Me? No."

[onlyhymns]

This shall not stand. But Cade shall, dripping and filthy with his clothes ruined. Ruined!
He sulks for a few seconds, lamenting his dignity, but as long as it's already gone, getting a little revenge couldn't hurt.
He takes a step around Alistair to give him a shove with both hands toward the same puddle, but his comparatively limited strength and smaller size puts him at a disadvantage. He's persistent, at least.

[byblow]

Alistair looks up from his boots just in time to see Cade coming and plant one foot further back as a brace. And then he stands there for a bit, unmoving, mouth stretched in something that's almost a smile but mostly a grimace from strain and trying to keep up with Cade's shoving hands.

"I don't deserve this," he says through his teeth. "I don't! You were being an ass—"

He's a rock! He's a mountain!

He's ticklish.

So eventually some of Cade's persistence pays off, randomly, and Alistair grins and exhales a wheezy burst of air that doesn't quite qualify as a laugh, ducking and folding sideways.

Maybe that just only leaves a clear path for Cade to stumble back into the mud himself, but if not, at least Alistair's lost his footing. There's hope for the future of equitable filth distribution.

[onlyhymns]

The thing about rocks is they can be eroded, although that takes millions of years and Cade just doesn't have the time for that. He does in fact lose his footing again, but this time as he goes down he manages to snatch at Alistair's shirt, dragging him along part of the way and possibly with enough force that gravity can finish the job.

As he begins to right himself again, Cade is struck by how awful he looks and how stupid this is. It's the perfect combination to make him panic, but for whatever reason, this time, he snorts as a laugh threatens to escape him.

[byblow]

Yes, there Alistair goes. He has time on the way down to think I suppose this is fair really, and then he's in the mud.

Which is fine. He lands, he sprawls, he flips around to sprawl back on his elbows and look fairly at home there, smirking up at passing dock workers who probably wouldn't have helped either of them up anyway to make sure they don't try.

"I would not," he says with dignity and without looking at Cade, "be friends with Dumat."

He'll just be Urthemiel's dad. That's different.

[onlyhymns]

Cade is standing again when Alistair goes down, or at least mostly there, and still ankle-deep in the mud that now pretty much covers both of them. "Maybe not," he concedes, sloshing his legs around a little more than necessary as he climbs out, "but you'd try."