[OPEN] Welcome Back! Now Take a Bath.

[scalethewall]

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]

Comments

[scalethewall]

"... right. Silly me for asking," He mutters, because that explanation was about as ridiculous as it got. They were animals, right? Well, he's assuming they're animals, since it's a stable. Treating animals as if they were people was pretty bizarre and forcing yourself to live like an animal for their supposed comfort was even weirder.

Whatever, it didn't affect him. He could just ignore it... until the mabari starts whining. Now, he liked dogs as much as the next person, but he's finding himself very thankful that it's a ladder that leads up to the loft and not stairs.

Right, definitely minding his own business now.

[aintwejust]

"Mighty warhounds, mabari. Ain't afraid of anything, ain't supposed to kick up a fuss. I find the one futou mabari in Orlais what thinks he's a puppy." Malcolm scrubs a hand down his face, grumbling. Jayne turns pitiful eyes on Blackwall instead, lumbering over as though HE might have something to make his sorry existence bearable.

A few choice Orlesian, Antivan, and the odd Tevene swear coils about as he finds himself a damn ladder, hauls it over to the one gap in the slats, hammers it home and slides back down. Shiny.

"Sorry 'bout that. Jayne, quit bugg'n him."

[scalethewall]

"If you left him on his own for a few nights, I'm sure he'd learn to sleep on his own. Can't stay awake forever," Blackwall says, more speaking to the mabari in front of him while giving the dog a scratch behind the ear.

"Mabari are smart... and they'll manipulate you, if you let them," Still speaking to Jayne, though the conversation is obviously directed at the stranger.

"Go on then," He gives the dog one last scratch before straightening up and nodding towards his owner.

[aintwejust]

"I do that he gets into the larder, the cook gets mad at me and I gotta pay for it. This ain't guess'n he's done that. Twice." Sneaky little bastard. "Otherwise I'd afford a room in the Herald's rest or summat."

But no, hammock with a horse and a dog. It's pretty damn Fereldan of him even for an average Fereldan.

"Yeah, tell me somth'n I don't know." Which ain't all that much. He sets the hammer aside and scrubs a hand clean on his trousers, offering it to the man. "Malcolm Reynolds. You one 'a them Wardeny folk?"

[scalethewall]

His own hands are rough, calloused and in a state of constant dirtiness, and for once he's barehanded, gloves still drying out.

"One of those Wardeny folks. That's right," He says good naturedly with a nod as he shakes the man's hand. "Warden Blackwall.

What do you do here with the Inquisition, Malcolm? Aside from fix rooves, of course."

He's genuinely curious despite the light teasing. The Inquisition had grown so much since he'd left for the Storm Coast, it was no longer some kind of temporary army but something much greater with people from all walks of life.

[aintwejust]

Mal's own hands are scuffed up, callouses from sword, from spear, from rope and wood and weathering. "Thought y'all were all settled in the camp by the valley."

Not that he much paid 'em mind. They did their thing, he did his.

"Me? Delivery, heavy lift'n, little bit of writing, riding, fight'n. Whatever needs do'n."

[scalethewall]

"I'd heard something similar... just yesterday actually. Actually, I'm planning on going to see what's going on later today. Something about Grey Wardens being exiled? But that can't be right..." Surely, the Inquisition wouldn't have done something like that. Well... at least not without good reason, and if there was good reason, he wanted to know about it.

He nods as the man lists off a multitude of things, "I'm sure the Inquisition appreciates it."

[aintwejust]

"Well that kinda happens when they go 'no you can't kill this guy that done blowed up a Chantry and kicked off a lotta fight'n with mages and templars and whatnot, he's ours'. Like that's somth'n they don't do on the regular. People got mad, kicked up a fuss, now they camp out in the valley." Malcolm, himself, shrugs. "I don't have a horse in that race. Y'all cleared out Ferelden ten years ago. I seen a hoarde during a Blight. Far as I'm concerned? We're square."