faderift | [OPEN] Welcome Back! Now Take a Bath.

WHO: Blackwall and you!
WHAT: Blackwall returns to Skyhold after being away for a few months
WHEN: Current?
WHERE: Around Skyhold, mostly the stables and the tavern
NOTES: none that I can think of... his intro is over here. prose or brackets are fine

i. Just arrived
It's midday when Blackwall and the small group of scouts and soldiers who'd been with him in the Storm Coast are spotted by one of Skyhold's lookouts making their way back up the mountain road. They're definitely not in a rush, but getting inside of the fortress' high walls and out of the whipping mountain winds is a relief. After weeks in the constant drizzle of the Storm Coast, dry clothing felt like an unattainable fantasy.

Muddy, damp, and worn out, Blackwall was looking even more unkempt and wild than when he'd first arrived in Haven. The Storm Coast seemed to have that affect on people; the others with him didn't look like they'd fared much better. He's a little surprised at how glad he is to be back, but why wouldn't he be? A change of clothes into something that isn't already soaked through with rain and a proper place to enjoy a drink, what's not to love?

ii. Sparring/Beating up practice dummies close to the stables
It doesn't take Blackwall long at all to fall back into a routine, which means getting some time in with a dull sword and a stuffed potato sack on a stick meant to look like a person. It's unusual for him to be in anything less than his full armor, which includes the puffy gambeson he always wears, but it's still hung up to dry by the fire in the stables, so this morning he's settled for a loose tunic and trousers.

Unlike some of the others whacking away at the dummies, his movements are calm and devoid of emotion, simply going through training exercises and focusing on form and technique. Training exercises are all well and good, but if someone actually offered to spar he'd be hard pressed to turn them down, especially after fighting nothing but bears and spiders in the mud for the past few weeks.

iii. Tavern
"Oh, pardon me," Blackwall offers, managing to sound completely genuine while fighting back a chuckle. It's late evening and the tavern is apparently the place to be. It's surprisingly easy to misjudge how close you are to someone after a few drinks and Blackwall misses the mark as he leans over the counter to signal for another pint, bumping a few people.

"Ale, like the last one," He tells the barkeep when he gets their attention before offering a slightly intoxicated smile while waiting.

iv. or choose your own adventure!
[Walking around Skyhold or find him in the stables... demand he come tour the Warden encampment and watch him squirm, or comment about how much he needs a haircut. I'm down for all the things :3]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He straightens, dropping his shield arm to take a small break though he keeps his eyes on the dummy as if it might take a cheap shot while his guard is down. Anyway, it's easier to talk at it and not the acrobatic rogue beside him.

"I'm quite fond of my beard. Don't see anything wrong with it... or with dwarves for that matter," He says with a contemplative shrug before pushing the dulled practice sword into the dirt so he could lean some of his weight on it. Apparently satisfied that the dummy wasn't about to pull anything, he turns his attention to her, idly watching her impressive moves.

"Not a bad thing? Careful, someone might nearly mistake that for a compliment," He chuckles to himself, shaking his head.

"It's an impressive amount of hair." That includes the mane on the rest of his head. And she'd wager the rest of his body if what she can see around his top is an indicator. "Bet it keeps you warm in the...winter." She had to search for the word for a moment. They don't exactly have seasons underground.

"You could call it an observation, to keep up the appearance of not getting complimented." She does a few more dodges, a roll this way, a side-step that, coming in again for a few quick hits and back again. "Seems like it'd be a pain to keep all the knots out, though."

"Sure, it has it's benefits," He agrees. It probably did help keep him warm, and help scare people away, some might even say it could be a good disguise.

"An observation? Of course," When she mentions knots his hand subconsciously goes to his hair, threading his fingers through it. "Don't get many. Now, branches and bits of whatever I'm fighting is a different story, but that's what helmets are for, right? You know mine's not really much longer than your own, right? The hair, not the beard."

"Little longer." Is it? When's the last time she'd gotten it chopped? At least in a group of people, they tended to take care of each other. But at least here she can take a bath with actual soap if there's some around.

She sheathes the sword and runs her fingers through her hair, pulling it out to a distance she can see. Gathers it up in a chunk like she's going to pull it back into a ponytail but takes her dagger and blindly slices off the ends. Maybe a half-inch at best. "And a little longer, now. Maybe I should've taken up that iron mage's entourage when they showed up, gotten my hair pampered. And the rest of me." Shame the likes of her weren't in so many words invited to the party. "Rich people," she eventually concludes with a shake of her head, her hair finding its way to fall right around where it did before, but with fewer split ends now, and a little shorter around her chin.

He nods, "Yea, a little longer... why?" He'd been away for a few months and half the time had taken to wearing his hair in a low bun to keep it out of the way, but it still wasn't that long. He'd guess it was only a few inches longer than the woman's.

Silently, he watches her grab a few handfuls of hair and give herself a trim. An odd thing to do spur of the moment, but maybe she thought she'd forget it she left it for later.

"I'm sure you could find someone here who'd give you a proper haircut," He shrugged, "I've ever seen anything wrong with using a sharp blade myself though."

She gestures with her dagger. "See, sometimes it's easier to just do something yourself than trust anyone else to it. It's different if you're living and working with a couple of people you trust versus a place as big as this," and she puts on an airy, exaggerated tone that may or may not be some version of Orlesian nobility, "excuse me dear qunari mage friend, would you do me the honors of making sure no demons can grab me by the hair."

"I suppose... But what's not to trust if you're going to end up cutting your hair with a dagger. Surely someone, even a stranger, who knows how to cut hair will do, at least, as good of a job," He moves back to his target, which has started to slump a bit from the beating, and tries to prop it back up on the stick properly.

"Eh, I was thinking more along the lines of 'do you know anyone who cuts hair and won't miss any big chunks in the back where I can't reach as well'. Something like that."

Not a bad point. Her dummy hasn't taken as heavy a beating or as much of one, so he's happy (for a given definition of happy) to go back to taking a few potshots at it.

...But her hand still has to stray to her hair and pull at it a little, a look of consternation on her face. "Are you saying I missed some big chunks?"

A big grin is waiting for her after she does, indeed, check her hair, chuckling deeply.

"I don't think you did actually," And that makes it all the more amusing to him. Sorry, not sorry.

She's actually a little embarrassed, running her fingers through her hair a few more times to get it flattened back out the way she likes. "That's what I thought. Made me look. Maybe I could take up barbering. Promise I won't take off any of yours unless you ask for it." She does manage a smirk, though. "It does sound like you're asking for it. Just a little."

He chuckles, but shrugs.

"Maybe you could," He pauses to run a hand down his jaw and beard. "I probably do need a trim. I haven't given it much thought for the past few months. No offense, but I'd rather not have your dagger anywhere near my neck."

"Never, ser, outside of extenuating circumstances." Never say never. He could betray the Inquisition, or be a spy for the enemy, or end up possessed or something something something. "I don't think that'll be a problem."

"Extenuating circumstances? I'll keep that in mind," He says with a lopsided smile. It's less humorous than he lets on though. He's not a secret double agent, but he isn't without his faults.

[OPEN] Welcome Back! Now Take a Bath.

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