faderift | y'all a bunch of nerds

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y'all a bunch of nerds

WHO: Malcolm Reed, Leonard Church, all y'all
WHAT: Monthly catchall things
WHEN: Over the month
WHERE: Around Kirkwall
NOTES: n/a for now

Church has moved in with Christine, and it's...kind of weird. Not bad weird, mind; he rather likes the domesticity in ways he hadn't expected. A sure bed every single night that is also actually a bed. Living with a little yappy dog that wouldn't even qualify for a football. He's used to coming home to the same place every day, had done so in the Gulch, had done so outside of it. Still...it's...odd.

So he can be found, when not on duty, around Lowtown on occasion, at the cheap shops set up. He hasn't had a whole lot of reason to spend his money until now, for the little things. Bits of cobbled together furniture, or a few plates, or a heavier blanket. Winter's on its way, even if they're not in the mountains.

He can also be seen studying, a few books in his arms, some from the Inquisition, some spied or asked about from town. Even taking notes. He doesn't think he'll break any new ground on the rifts or the shards, but better to dig in himself. If they don't have any non-Venatori experts on the subject, then they'll just have to make themselves experts. (The pros of dating a healer: any time he finds the ache in his hand to be more than a little distracting, the pain can be soothed back down to a tolerable level.)

(It's getting slowly worse over time.)

(He hasn't said as much to Christine.)

Though the excitement over the impromptu duel at the docks with Christine's would-be suitor has dropped significantly, he's still a known figure to those who were present for it. He's gotten passably proficient with a sword, but a rapier? Well, it can't hurt to learn more than one way to injure someone, right? So when he isn't practicing with his sword--god forbid he ever give the crossbow another try in a much more crowded area--then he's borrowed a rapier to try and teach himself the basics.

Malcolm has been in something of a sour mood, though to those who know him less than well, it's hard to tell he's any different from normal. As a Seeker, he's more than used to being the stern bearer of bad news, to grit his teeth and take on weight. Between Jonas, Cade, the perversion of the memorial garden, the Venatori mage that got away for the sake of saving others, not to mention whatever correspondence he finds himself in charge of, as well as more, he's found that he's been more on the downswing than he's been in quite some time. He doesn't believe in luck, but he does feel he's due for a turnaround here.

Still, he spends time while in the city where he needs and on occasion where he isn't needed. The stables and kennels are a normal haunt for him, taking Charles out for a trot outside the bounds of street and wall, or making sure Milady gets her training and play and socialization in. If he isn't caring for his horse and making sure the stable hands they've hired are taking their job with the utmost seriousness, then he's softened around his poodle companion, a little grooming, a little fetching.

There are several evenings as the sun goes down that he spends by the docks, taking in the sea breeze and the squawk of seagulls while he signs off on some shipments, chats with a few scouts that seek him out specifically to report on how people in the city are reacting, or even brings documents with him to peruse while seated on a crate or barrel. Never too close to the water's edge, though.

In the very early mornings, he tries to keep as regimented a schedule as possible, every single day. Pray, first thing. A light nibble, usually plain, something simple like oatmeal. A workout to hone and strengthen the muscles, the senses, and then training on dummies or sparring with another early riser. He doesn't like being interrupted with other duties at this hour, but if it's something he must attend to himself, he will. And then a quick wash up before he finally attends to the day proper as the city rouses itself. It's a very familiar pattern to anyone who had seen him keep such a schedule in Skyhold.

(And occasionally finds him shirtless and glistening, for those who might care to notice such a thing.)

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Kirkwall is far from Christine's dream home, but this is where they are for the time being and she's reached a point where she's decided to make the best of it. She's far less melancholy about their location and has adopted a can do attitude regarding making it a home. The process is ongoing, but -- inspired by the beautiful bird suncatcher Inessa gave her for her birthday -- Christine is decorating their place in shades of blue and white. She is quite sure Church will have no complaints about that. Today she returns from her shopping trip with her basket laden with purchases. They're mostly linens, and she got a good price by purchasing them cut to size, but not hemmed. She can do that herself, planning to make some kitchen cloths with a loop of fabric sewn on to hang from hooks. Nice and tidy; it's how she likes things.

Entering their place, she sees Church at the table with books surrounding him. Ponce jumps up and begins prancing in front of her, hopping on his back legs and barely able to contain his excitement.

"Oh, good, you are home," she says to Church. "Has he been out lately?" She sets her basket on the floor to attend to later and approaches the table, eyes moving over the books, but not focusing on reading anything just yet. "What is all this?"

"Hmm? Yeah, I let the little shit out for a little shit when I got here." He leans back in his seat, smiling at his girlfriend that apparently he's now comfortable with calling his girlfriend, at least when it comes to hoisting her up in front of everyone to share how great she is. The domestic life. With a dog. And shopping. It's not exactly what he planned for in his life, and the day someone invents modern plumbing he'll straight up cry, but it's...it sure is something.

"A little light reading," he jokes, reaching for one of her hands so he can casually kiss it. "Apparently one of the captive Venatori offered up studying the shards and the rifts ostensibly to help us under supervision and all. We don't really have anyone who's an expert on this stuff, and some of us objected to the idea of letting someone like that get his hands on anything that might help him. Dunno what'll happen in the end, but...I suggested we start making ourselves experts in the field."

He'd say he's not much of a researcher himself, but how many hours had he spent in Skyhold's library, studying the maps of the world, peeking into the basics of magical theory, attempting to understand the place he's stranded in? Once he'd sought to leave, to find whatever's beyond the edges of the map. Now he can't imagine being anywhere else.

"What's all that?" he then asks with a nod to the basket.

There is a brief hum sound at his little joke about Ponce. Really, she shouldn't find some of the things he says to be so funny. It's simple vulgarity, and yet it always gets a chuckle out of her. Settling in with Church has been so easy and natural, and it's because she's completely herself around him. She laughs at his jokes and appreciates his kisses pressed to her hand and everything in between.

Her face grows pensive as he goes on to explain the Venatori's offer, and she's quick to nod her head in agreement with him. "I do not like the idea of him learning more. There is always a chance he could send word back." And anything concerning the rifts that helps Corypheus hurts their cause and could especially hurt rifters. Christine leans into Church from where she stands, slipping her arm around him. "So you are taking charge? I am proud of you." It hasn't escaped her notice that Thedas is really, really backwards in his eyes and that must be frustrating for him, and so she hopes he finds things he can escape into that satisfy him. This work seems like it could be one of those things.

His question has her gaze shifting to the basket, which Ponce is sniffing because these are smells from the outside world.

"Oh, cloths I must sew. Face cloths, kitchen cloths; things we needed." But she moves over to the basket, shooing Ponce away to pick it up and set it on a clear spot on the table. "I was thinking of getting you new shirts, but I was not sure what you wanted. I suppose I would need you to come with me next time." She starts removing folded up pieces of fabric with raw edges that need sewn up. Most are white, but some have bands of blue running across too. At the bottom of the basket is something else, and her smile is a bit sheepish as she lifts it out.

"I know it was a frivolous purchase, but I could not resist. It is jade." She shows him the smooth gem that fits in the palm of her hand. "It reminded me of your eyes," she adds, fully aware that she had a moment of sentimentality at the shop. "I suppose you could use it as a paperweight?" Christine sets it on the page of one of his open books. "There. I should start hemming these."

"Well...yeah, I guess that's what I'm doing, kind of. It's something that has a direct impact on me, so...I like the idea of taking charge of my own destiny, or anything like that. I know research isn't really my thing like throwing up a shield or swinging a sword or looking moderately imposing, but the more we collectively understand about any of this..." He shrugs. "Maybe my stupid ape brain will make a connection someone else hasn't yet."

But that aside, because he's pretty sure if he reads one more not super founded theory on the Fade and connections to it, he might tear something up, he listens to her go on about the duties she's given herself. The little things you don't really think about needing until you move somewhere, and then, shit, you don't have enough pots, why didn't you even think about getting a trash can before trash bags, how do you have three bluray players and not a single one of them is capable of being hooked up to the tv, where the hell are we going to put the tp?

And then the jade. He grins at her, wide and adoring. There will never be a day, he thinks, that he won't feel this about her in some way. Never regret it. He leaves the books behind, will clean it up later, and wraps his arms around her in a bear hug.

"Yeah. Next time get me to go shopping with you. Maybe I'll just have to make a frivolous purchase myself to match how stupid pretty you are."

When Ponce gives a few yaps, Church reaches down to scoop him up with an arm. "You might be pretty, too, but on a waaaaay different level. You get pampered enough as it is."

It's those little things that Templars like to brag that mages know nothing about when they're taken care of in the Circle, as if keeping mages as helpless as possible is a good thing. When Christine and the others fled to Andoral's Reach, they were running for their lives and survival was at the front of everyone's mind. But when they arrived there and regrouped, the Loyalists among them brought up the fact that mages have no idea how to take care of themselves. And that's when the in-fighting began. If only they had stopped shouting and listened to reason. They could take care of themselves because it was necessary to do so. In Christine's case, it helps that she's extremely practical. She sees a problem that needs a solution, and she finds it. She doesn't rush off whining to people to do things for her. Even if she was that type, her pride wouldn't let her.

And this house is perfect for them. It's not too big and doesn't have a lot of space that needs filled up. It just needs the particulars. A few more dishes, cookware, chairs, and homey touches, and they'll be ready to entertain one or two guests for dinner.

Christine laughs when he hugs her, hands flattened to his chest. "Church!" she says, in that pseudo-protesting tone that he knows full well to ignore. It's simply her way to put on a little show, pretending he's expressing too much when they both know she adores it just as much as he does. "I take it stupid pretty is a compliment, yes?" Her lips quirk in a smirk, because she would never tolerate being called stupid if he was using that word in its original form.

She scritches Ponce under the chin with her fingernails, and the scene of perfect domesticity is almost overwhelming. Christine is so incredibly happy right now. Now matter what the future holds, she will remember this moment forever.

"I like to think I have broken him of the pampered expectations he had from my mother, but I am afraid I only instilled new ones in him. But look at this face." Look at it, Church. How could you look at it and not want to snuggle him forever?

"Stupid pretty, like, stupidly pretty, like you're so pretty it's ridiculous how pretty you are. Yeah. It's a compliment." One of these days he'll really start making some modern slang catch on, and then Thedas will be a much more annoying place.

"See, you say to look at that face, but there's not a whole lot of face. It's mostly ear." He blows on Ponce's ears, making them flick. "I'd say a solid third of him is ear. First storm this place gets, he'll blow away because he's got big ol' sails on his head."

Her face lights up, because what woman doesn't want to hear she's pretty from the lips of the man she... well, she definitely cares about him more than anything she can think of. It's a bit scary to think of applying the L word to this, though. The two of them do so much better taking baby steps.

"Noooo, we shall hold on to him tightly." She runs her hand over Ponce's head and scratches his ear, while he gives a disgruntled look to Church for blowing on him like that. Cease your wind, human!

"And I will hold on to you tightly too," she adds, slipping an arm around Church's back. Call it paranoia, but the idea of him studying the rifts has her worried he'll accidentally open a way for him to go back too. Not that he would wish to go, right? They both know how that would end for him, but what if he gets pulled back through against his will?

"And I'll just have to hold you both. I'm bigger and stronger and heavier and much more like an anchor than you. Which is a compliment, actually." Girls like being complimented on their weight, right? He's calling her not heavy! That's good, riiight? He kisses the top of her head. "But if push comes to shove, I'm choosing you over the dog. No offense, Ponce."

It's always a compliment. One that she's more than happy to hear again and again.

"You are very big and strong, yes," she agrees, knowing how that will boost his ego. She doesn't mind giving it a little nudge every once in awhile, so he can know how he's appreciated. Even though she would have done anything to leave the Gallows, she's not sure if she would have moved out here if it was on her own. Having him here does feel like an anchor that keeps her safely settled. Without him, she would probably still be holed up in that warehouse on the docks, feeling miserable.

Ponce doesn't know to feel insulted so he simply stares back as Christine continues petting him. But if he could understand human speech, he would be super offended. Like, Orlesian levels of offended. That much.

"Now, has my big, strong ape man eaten recently?"

"Big strong ape man need pretty girl cook food, ook ook." He kisses her on the cheek, and Ponce between the comical ears before putting him down.

"I'll clean up my stuff and find a place for your basket of goodies. And maybe you can try to teach a big insensitive ogre how to stitch so that he can use his giant meaty hands to help."

Christine laughs as she starts to roll up her sleeves to prepare the meal. "Now you are trying to make yourself sound like a monster from legends, when you are far more the hero. At least in my eyes." She works quickly with what they have available, since there are sadly no refrigerators here. As she works, she hums a tune to herself and bustles around from workspace to fireplace and back again, putting chopped up veggies into bacon drippings in a pan over the fire. Setting a hand on her hip, she stirs the vegetables around and nudges Ponce back with her foot.

"No, my greedy little one. None for you. Too hot." Ponce doesn't seem dissuaded, however, and sticks close by, tongue darting out occasionally to lick his nose. She clicks her tongue and pulls a fire screen in between him and fire as she goes to check on something she's left on the counter.

"No meat tonight, I am afraid. I will buy some early tomorrow and put it into a stew before I leave for work."

He slides a few pages into his open book as a mark for later and clears off the table, letting the books thump heavily in a corner of the floor. The jade is placed on top. Much more delicately. "Well, your hero-slash-monster appreciates all of it."

Someday. Someday someone's going to invent a fridge. And on that day, he will sing a song of glory.

"Cuz I don't think I tell you often enough how much I appreciate what you do." Not that he does nothing around their little, cozy place, but...man, his domestic skillset is decidedly lacking. "I'll have to do something nice for you to make up for it."

Back at the counter, she huffs out a laugh at his description of himself. Sometimes his ego is as big as a mountain, and sometimes it's not. At least he's settled for something in between at the moment. He can be both if he wants to.

"I think I am supposed to be humble and say you do not have to," she replies, poking at something in a bowl before deciding it's ready and picking up the bowl to take over to the fire. "And yet the idea has appeal and I wish to see what you would do." Christine takes a moment to smile at him before refocusing on the meal and laying down egg soaked bread into the pan beside the vegetables.

"Mm, pain perdu." It's said down to the little beggar who is looking up at her with puppy eyes. "If you are good, you may be given a sneaky piece under the table." To Church, it's just going to look like French toast, because that's pretty much what it is.

"...See, now I think you're mentally going to set the bar higher than you should, so now I have to think of something really good." He set himself up for it, it's his own fault. "Being humble's boring sometimes."

Good smells, warm fire, little house in the city, what more could he ask for beyond modern conveniences and no shard in his hand that's apparently slowly killing him? He flexes his hand, feeling free to go without gloves in the comfort of home.

"Wow, French toast? Or...Orlesian toast, I guess. Eggy delicious bread. What a treat. Could use some pancakes, sausage, and a cup of fruit. Maple syrup, creamy butter, confectioners sugar... I'm getting way ahead of myself. It smells great."

"Perhaps I should rein it in, hm?" she asks, setting the bowl aside once all the bread is in the pan, hissing away from the heat. Luckily she's not as high maintenance as her heritage might suggest. He gave her flowers for her birthday and she thought they were the best present ever, perfuming the air of their little room in the warehouse and making a sad space seem so much nicer.

"I suppose it is toast in a way. Pain perdu means 'lost bread.' It is stale bread that needs something done to it so it does not go to waste." She flashes him a grin as she collects more items. "I cannot give you maple syrup, but I can make a sweet sauce for it." Putting a little pot over the flames, she melts butter, adds sack and sugar, and stirs it around to melt the latter.

"There are berry preserves over there," she says, jutting her chin towards a shelf above the counter where there are several jars lined up. "On the left. If you would be so kind as to use your big, strong arms to get it down for me?" It's not quite a meal at an IHOP, but it's what they have.

"You don't have to go out of your way to..." But he trails off, reaching for the jar of preserves.

The little comforts of home all came from somewhere, and they came from people working harder with less for the same result. And it's a good thing Church isn't a picky eater by any means. Sure, his palate has become a little more refined since being (re)introduced to eating, but food is food, damn it.

"You're good to me." With a smooch to the cheek and passing her the jar. It's only the truth.

"Of course I am. You are a good man. Why would I not be?" She spoons some preserves into her sauce and stirs it around before giving it a taste for sweetness. It's perfect the way it is, so she sets the jar aside and checks on the underside of the toast. In her mind, there's no reason for her not to add in things that Church would like to their meal. She likes to keep him happy and he works hard enough that some sweets aren't going to make him unhealthy.

"Have you learned anything interesting regarding the rifts so far, or are you wanting to put it all out of your mind for tonight? All of those books means you must have been studying very hard."

"Hnnnnnothing that stands out to me so far. It's still kind of a new area of research, I guess, so that doesn't surprise me." How he longs for the ease and instant gratification of internet news. "I also dunno if I'm the person who should really be doing this, cuz I'm way more likely to just...miss something entirely."

Christine flips the bread and turns back towards him, giving him a curious look. "Why do you say that?" When she walked in the door he had a whole spread of books laying before him, so perhaps it's the amount of information that makes it more likely for things to slip through the cracks. Or perhaps he's putting himself down again; becoming the ogre of the story who can barely turn the pages with his big, meaty hands because he can't see himself any other way.

Edited (wrong word, blah) 2017-08-30 22:39 (UTC)

"I mean, I'm a soldier? I do fighty things. More than...hours of reading and note taking and shit. I mean yeah, I've done before, like...other stuff, nothing so intense. Nothing that's got such a direct impact on me and people like me? We've got actual scientists and researchers to do this stuff, so." Shrug. Everything's fine! He hasn't given up the research yet anyway.

"But you should have a hand in it, because it directly affects you too." And she did not mean to pun just there when she mentioned a hand. "After all, I am a healer and a researcher, but I fight when I must. You need not think so little of your research skills just because it is not what you are used to." This is good for him, and she wants to encourage him as much as she can. Besides, understanding the rifts is vital to the shardbearers' survival. He doesn't know how she stares at his glowing hand in the dark after he's fallen asleep, and the worry that constantly flows through her mind like a river. He may be keeping the extent of his pain away from her, but she knows what everybody says about the shards: that they're killing the people who bear them. A way has to be found to stop this. Her healing spells can only go so far.

"You will find answers. All of you working on this. I know you can." They must. Her eyes flicker downwards to that green glow. "How does your hand feel tonight?"

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y'all a bunch of nerds

study time with that space marine dude

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