faderift | and there's a glass on the table, they say it's gonna ease all my pain

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and there's a glass on the table, they say it's gonna ease all my pain

WHO: Mia Rutherford and OPEN
WHAT: She spends a lot of time taking care of everyone else. She needs a drink or five to unwind before getting back to it.
WHEN: Current
WHERE: Herald's Rest
NOTES: Alcohol? Bad decisions?

She's not proud of herself for this. But there are breaking points, and she's nearing one, and it's better to deal with them pre-emptively than not, and have a fuss be made later. There are things that are completely out of her control, Maker knows, and she needs to make her peace with them.

Wine helps. So does the ambiance of the tavern, even if she sits alone. There's a homesickness that claws at her, though she refuses to let it take root too deeply. There's work to be done here, after all--

No. No work tonight. Just...relax. Listen to the music and the noise and the banter and try to let it go.

Easier said than done, but she'll muddle through it. Stubbornness is a Rutherford family trait, apparently.

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He's still new, still a little wary about spending too much time in public places, but seeing someone sitting and drinking by themselves speaks to him just a little. Maybe she's alone by choice. If so, she'll no doubt tell him. Otherwise, she could perhaps use the company as he could.

Anders comes over with a mug of ale and nods at the chair next to her.

"May I join you? I promise I won't try to sing."

A few drinks earlier and she might have said no. But perhaps she's more lonely than she first realized, or would ever admit to. Just having someone sitting there sharing a drink in companionable silence might be better than nothing at all.

There's a wry smile and she gestures freely to the seat. "The bard isn't terrible. I'm afraid I don't know half of the songs she sings," she admits, fingers trailing along the outside of her glass.

"I suppose being well-traveled must help."

He gives her a small smile as he takes the seat, glancing over at the bard.

"I'd call myself well-traveled, but I'd not say I recognize most of what she's singing either. They're a little... cleaner... than what I'm accustomed to. Then again, so is the whole of this tavern."

The Hanged Man was known for being, well, "feelthy," as some people said. The Pearl hadn't really been that much better, nor had just about anywhere he'd spent a lot of time. Being an apostate didn't mean much coin, plus Templars tended to stick to the nicer places.

"I have to say, I like clean cups. You?"

A light chuckle leaves her, almost without effort. "Oh, I'm far from disappointed," she murmurs. "But then I'm not well-versed in taverns, either. If they'd tried to serve me from a dirty glass, I might have gone back there and shown them how to properly clean them, myself."

Clearly it would have been some fault in their upbringing, something she'd be all too glad to correct. Perhaps she's too eager to try to solve other people's problems for them, she reflects. But leaving people to their struggles isn't something she's very good at.

"They might have fallen over in shock." Well born, then, if she's not used to a dirty glass. "I've been to plenty where you're lucky to have a glass at all, and clean is entirely out of the question. You bring your own rags to those."

He's exaggerating. Slightly. Mostly because he'd never brought a rag to a tavern.

"The songs tend to be far more shameless in those locations, as well. More heretical, more adult. I'm almost disappointed by how mild these are."

Anders holds out a hand.

"Call me Detlef. And you?"

"Mia."

She extends her hand in turn, her grip firm but polite. If Anders is willing to guess at high birth, the callouses on her hands might change his mind. Then again, they might not. Plenty of Ferelden noble women got their hands dirty, at least compared to someplace like Orlais.

"I'm sure they'll get more scandalous as the night progresses, and everyone's had more to drink. Or perhaps they'll simply seem more scandalous. Hard to say."

Her grip isn't loose and flimsy like he'd expect from someone he pegged as well-off, and her hands second that. His first impression might have been wrong. It won't be the first time, if he's honest with himself.

"Pleasure to meet you, Mia. And generally the reverse happens. The more one drinks, the less scandalous they seem. The less scandalous everything becomes." His mild expression turns a little more direct as he tilts his head at her. "Like shaking hands with a mage. Some would find that quite the shocking thing. Frightful, even."

Because nothing is casual tavern conversation the way checking how much someone might hate his people is.

"I don't doubt it." Mia's eyebrow lifts primly. "And they'd have their reasons, I'm certain. But by and large I've discovered mages are simply people. So you'll forgive me for not gasping or swooning at the idea."

Her hand flutters in a dismissive wave.

"Outside of the templars, it seems most are simply content to live and let live with the mages. We all have a larger issue to focus on, for the time being. It's made things a little less strained, if only a little."

"It's a larger issue... but it's also not." Her response is welcome, though, and Anders relaxes. The direct look is gone as he leans back in his chair.

"Right now, concessions are being made because there is the danger to all of Thedas. But if measures aren't put in place now, as soon as Corypheus is dealt with, we could lose every bit of ground we've gained. I don't want to see that happen, because regaining it will be all the harder."

There will be more measures in place to control mages, to police them, to bring them in. They can't deal with that.

"Granted, I'm new. Perhaps there are some being worked upon I've not heard of." It's far more generous and hopeful than either he or Justice truly feel, but it's worth saying.

"I'm not privy to those meetings, I'm afraid." Mia gives a mild shrug, though there's some measure of sympathy in her expression. The mages have an uphill battle to fight, there's no question there.

"But it sounds as though they're trying to establish the mages as able to account for their own. It goes as slowly as anyone might expect. I'm not truly in a position to judge if it's going well."

Still, this place was safer for mages than most. As defensive as the man had seemed at first, that should have been some measure of comfort to him.

"It was worth the asking." He's found a friend to mages. That counts for a great deal. It's not her fault if few are talking about how the affairs of mages are going. He'll simply have to dig deeper with the mages he's met. For now, he can enjoy the company of someone Justice can't find any objections to. That's a nice change.

"So you're not well-versed in mage affairs, taverns, tavern songs, and tavern glasses." The words are delivered with a smile and a teasing voice. "May I ask what you are well-versed in, Mia?"

That brought about a chuckle. He had her there. How ignorant she must sound.

"Only the things one raised in a small village in the arling of Redcliffe, I imagine. Herbs and remedies. A good meal. Chess and cards, when the occasion arises," she added with a smile that curved wider. "And I do so miss having the opportunity for a worthy opponent."

She might have asked Cullen, once. But he does stay so busy. She can hardly blame him for not having the time to spare.

"If you're looking for a worthy opponent..." He lets the moment linger while he takes a sip of his drink and then sets the cup back down. "You've not found one. I'm absolutely awful at cards. No game face whatsoever." Anders grins for just a moment.

"Chess, I know the basics of. I won't be a challenge at first, but I'm a rather fast learner. We can talk herbs while you remind me if it's the horse that moves funny or the one with a knob on his head." It's the knight, not the bishop, and he knows it full well. He's still not very good at chess and if he can overplay his lack of skill in the area, he might take her slightly by surprise. Maybe. Unlikely, but there's a tiny chance.

His little feign there had her smirking and shaking her head. A jokester, then. Wonderful. Branson might well have approved. "I can see that. You have a very intent look about you. Dreadfully transparent, I'm afraid," she murmurs with a slight shrug.

"Luckily, chess doesn't require quite so much subterfuge to play effectively. Although knowing the names of the pieces might help."

A smirk is always a good reaction. It means someone's not about to stab you, or sell you out, or anything else unfortunate.

"Is that an offer to teach me how to improve my chess game, Mia? Because if it is, I'll take it." He pauses, looking into his cup for a moment. "...though timing might be a complicated thing. I don't know what demands you've on yours, but mine may be scarce as I settle in here."

He's going to need to get used to healing on schedule, rather than simply opening up doors and letting in whomever needs it.

"Only those I make for myself. There are many in the keep that need tending to, but the soldiers have their commander. The mages have their Council. The templars, the mercenaries...everyone has someone seeing to them save for the common folk." She gestures briefly with one hand.

"But I've been reminded several times now that I serve no one if I run myself into the ground. So there will be time, at some point. And you would be more than welcome to join me."

Mage or no, he seems to be good company. And something in the back of her mind says that perhaps he's lonely too, and that a new friend might not be such a terrible thing to have.

"You've heard that, have you?" He's commenting on the 'run herself into the ground' portion in particular, which the slightly shamed look on his face as she spoke it might suggest.

"Breaks have always been... difficult. Particularly when you're a healer. There's always someone else needing help, one more injury or illness." Anders shrugs. "It happens. But if we arrange a chess game, I could remember to take time for that."

Probably. Unless something's gone seriously wrong.

"So long as no one's bleeding out on my account." Her brow knits for a moment, but the curve of her lip says it's a joke, that she doesn't truly think him that sort. No, he's far too intent for that. He'd take his job as seriously as she would, in her position.

There are familiar worry-lines on his face, at the corners of his eyes and mouth. He's not a young man, no more than she, but the world's obviously taken a toll on him. A chess game could be good for both of them, truth be told.

"But yes. Busy as we can be here, there's no immediate crisis that needs our attention. We might as well take advantage of the calm while it exists."

"I swear, I've never quite let someone bleed out because of a pretty face. Almost. Once. But then they survived." There's a sparkle in his eyes for a moment as he lifts his cup in her direction and empties it. He hadn't done that to anyone. He figures she'll know that.

He's done worse.

But the deaths on his hands aren't the topic of discussion right now. Anders stands, mindful of how short he needs to keep his time in the tavern here. Fenris has never hidden how much he likes to drink, after all.

"Calm is always something to take advantage of, I agree, and so I'm going to see about getting some sleep. Until next time, and possibly that game, Mia."

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and there's a glass on the table, they say it's gonna ease all my pain

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