Pel did say her trade blanket, but she has apparently closed up shop for this event and scooped all her goods into their boxes. Set out on the blanket are plates, spoons, the promised pie and two mugs of beer (not of the "let's get drunk" variety so much as the "let's not get dysentery from the water" variety). A casual lunch break date it is. She has even refrained from gussying up, her hair in its usual braid and her shawl a practical brown. Not that she would have had time to do something special, as impulsive as this was. She is wearing an actual dress and a wide elven belt with a cord, but she didn't put that on for him.
Although he'd deny it, Blackwall had also been fussing around all morning in preparation for their -he wasn't calling this a date, or an outing- picnic. He arrives, much like her, with a lot of careful thought into his casualness. Bathed and groomed, but still in his usual garb.
"Ah, looks like we won't be needing this then," He says when he sees the mugs, lifting the bottle of wine he'd brought along. He worried since the invite about what to bring, or what not to bring. Flowers seemed like too much, other food seemed almost offensive, and nothing at all couldn't be appropriate, so wine it was.
When she sees him approach, she immediately wonders what it is she is doing. Things were comfortable and not at all risky just working quietly side by side. But this was her idea. Why does she have ideas when people are involved?
"Oh--I'm sure it'll taste better than the beer. It was kind of you to bring it."
Why? Why was it kind? He's drinking it. What word does she actually want? Thoughtful?
Nothing has actually changed. She remembers that. This is just lunch and seeing what kind of fondness they might have for each other. It's sensible. Breathe in, breathe out.
"Which do you want? And if you say wine, we're going to have to drink the beer very quickly to free up the cups. And I'm an awful drinker."
"Of course, couldn't let you provide the food, drinks and the agreeable company. So, I thought I'd, at least, contribute to drinks," He says with a smirk, not so subtly calling himself bad company.
"Uh, up to you, but won't drinking beer and wine together make you sick... I always forget how that rhyme goes and just avoid mixing altogether. You can keep the bottle for later if you'd like. Promise, I won't tell anyone," He sneaks in a wink as he sits down and gets comfortable, handing the bottle over to her.
"Is that how that goes?" His brow furrowed, but he's already shrugging and reaching for the beer to take a drink. "Why don't we just call it a dessert wine, and drink the whole bottle after the meal?" Because that's what dessert wine meant, right?
He waits to drink until she's passed him a plate and then raises his glass for a toast. "To... meat pies?" He asks with a lopsided smile, "It looks amazing. And you made it?"
"You traded for them? Isn't that cheating?" He teases lightly, giving her a warm smile. It's only then that he catches that look.
"I didn't mean... This is lovely, Pel. Honest. I can't imagine it would be very easy to arrange for some kitchen space to cook something anyway," And how would she randomly have ingredients on her? No, now that he actually thought things through it'd been a slightly ridiculous question to begin with.
"I'm not..." She shakes herself a bit, then sets her cup aside to start digging into her portion of the pie. "I'm not a little wife. I'm not good at keeping houses in order and the children to bed when you get home, or whatever it is city folk really do. I'm terrible at talking to people and I'm afraid of absolutely everything, but when I talk, it always sounds like I'm angry even when I'm not. I know how to be political, but I don't like being political to people I'm really fond of because I think you deserve better than that. And I'm actually very soft even though I don't seem it. But I'm not a little wife, or a cook, or a decoration. And I'm not angry, I'm just trying to explain that because maybe I've been too quiet and I'm afraid of going into another relationship--maybe--with the other person's expectations different from reality. Again."
He hesitates at first, unsure how to keep backpedaling. First, he'd been worried that he'd somehow made her feel bad for not making this by assuming she had. Now he was worried about reassuring her that it was fine she hadn't made it. Not to mention she'd been quick to assure him she could cook, but was now telling him she... wouldn't?
He took a quick glance at her beer and had to wonder if she'd started much earlier before he'd arrived.
This wasn't actually the first mostly nonsensical rant he'd sat through, and he'd learned from his first handful of experiences that it was jut best to keep his mouth shut and nod. Until- "Uh. Wait. A relationship?"
He blinks at her, now very confused, "Pel, we've only just met, and anyway, I-" He shakes head, "You wouldn't want anything to do with me anyway. You can do much better."
"I wasn't suggesting, I was--" And now the flame comes to her face, which she hides behind her hands. She heard how her words sounded. She sounded completely nuts.
"I thought--I thought Marchers--you know, forget everything I said. I thought--I was saying that we're just getting to know one another. And some people...I say that to, I say we'll see what happens, and he starts dreaming of our wedding, and I wanted to be sure you know this isn't like that. I've been burned, is all. I'm sorry if I alarmed you."
The fact that she sounded equally as flustered and embarrassed was somehow actually a relief. When she mentions her assumption about Marchers (one that he can't fully deny), he breaks into a sheepish smile, stifling a soft chuckle.
"I wasn't aware you were interested. I wouldn't want to presume just because you offered to share a few meat pies that... well, you know," He says, speaking softly. He gives her a nod as she explains herself, "It's alright. And, for what it's worth, I'm sorry to hear that.
Anyway. You deserve much better than someone like me."
"It's a statement about both of us. You can do much better than me and I'm certainly not worthy of someone like you. Just... take my word on this one, Pel," He says seriously, giving her a bittersweet, forced smile, regret and guilt once again creeping into his voice.
The truth of the matter is that she can't handle another Gavin. She likes him. She'll probably keep liking him. But she can't try to be some intravenous self-esteem drip for someone else. This has to be something Blackwall does for himself.
A fleeting smile.
"Well. Let me know if that changes. In the meantime, we can be friends, can't we? I like being around you."
"I certainly hope so," He says with a warm, genuine smile. With so many Wardens here, it felt like it was only a matter of time before he'd wind up in the dungeons, or worse. He couldn't bear the thought of dragging anyone else down with him, especially someone like Pel. It wasn't fair. She didn't know what she was signing up for and he couldn't tell her. They were much better off as friends, unless something changed dramatically.
Of course, now the idea was there, which was always a little problematic.
Not so bad at all, especially when he hadn't been expecting they were anything but friends. He eats a few mouthfuls, almost obediently, though really the pies were starting to cool which meant they were at their tastiest.
"These are terrific. What did you say you had to give for them? Maybe I can return the favor in a bit," He said contently before taking a drink of the ale Pel had brought.
"A couple of pads. Thick hide on one side, knitted wool on the other. The kitchen staff use them to pick up hot pans." She scoops up some gravy with a spoon and licks it clean. "I wonder if I could trade more for the recipe."
Pel is sitting on her trade blanket with a stack of books and writing on the inside cover of one--Sam's copy, with a special note and an autograph as requested. She looks up as Katniss approaches and slides one copy off the top of the stack, wordlessly offering it.
Katniss came across the courtyard, a sheaf of papers under one arm, quill and ink in her hand, satchel over her arm. She slipped through the usual crowd of people milling about the courtyard, before going to drop just beside Pel's blanket with a sigh, waving the sheaf.
"As you can see, I've gotten a little ... ambitious."
"It's a report, not a novel." She reaches out for the pages. "Our superiors don't have time to read novels. They need all the information in as few words as possible."
She rolls her eyes before she hands over the report. "I know that. I just ... don't know how to parse out in simplistic terms, 'and then the slaves thanked us for their lives, sobbing and praying on their knees' into something less ... fraught."
One booted foot kicked out a little, as Katniss shifted, restless. "It got to me. All of it."
Pel loops an arm around Katniss and pulls her in for a squeeze. "You can be fraught. You have to convey the gravity of the situation in your report. You said it just fine, just now. Just don't make it into a manifesto. You can write a manifesto on the side, if you want, just not here."
She snorted softly, "Who would listen to a manifesto from a poor country bumpkin from the Hinterlands? A half-blood who never had any more schooling than what the Chantry sisters taught her."
She leaned her head against Pel's shoulder, bumping her for a moment. "Can you help me trim it down?"
"Of course I can, but you realize nobody needs to know you're a half-blood unless you tell them. It'd probably make your life rather easier, and I at least wouldn't blame you for it."
Alistair's mother had given her child away rather than let it be known he was a half-blood. This is what people do.
"Yes, but I would know." She looks across the courtyard, her eyes narrowing. "I would know that I was somehow ashamed of where I came from. I'm ashamed of my mother for being a lousy parent -- but I would never deny her as she denied my sister and me. That's ... that's just not who I am."
"I don't think a Dalish has any room to criticize idealism." Pel gives a faint shrug. "All right. First off, I want this to be half as long. Start crossing things out, words and sentences and paragraphs, anything that doesn't absolutely have to be there."
She gave Pel a wry look, before she sighed and took the report back. She plucked out a quill and ink, so she could start crossing things out. "All right, keeping this simple. A great deal simpler."
Merrick's eyes light up and he sets his pipe aside for the moment so he can grab one. He shows his gratitude by cramming it in his mouth, eating in that unrefined and childish way that is so characteristic of him.
A few more candies and Merrick feels quite content. He stretches, looking very much like a cat soaking up the sun after a good meal, then lowers himself down and lies his head in Pel's lap.
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for Blackwall
Pel did say her trade blanket, but she has apparently closed up shop for this event and scooped all her goods into their boxes. Set out on the blanket are plates, spoons, the promised pie and two mugs of beer (not of the "let's get drunk" variety so much as the "let's not get dysentery from the water" variety). A casual lunch break date it is. She has even refrained from gussying up, her hair in its usual braid and her shawl a practical brown. Not that she would have had time to do something special, as impulsive as this was. She is wearing an actual dress and a wide elven belt with a cord, but she didn't put that on for him.
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"Ah, looks like we won't be needing this then," He says when he sees the mugs, lifting the bottle of wine he'd brought along. He worried since the invite about what to bring, or what not to bring. Flowers seemed like too much, other food seemed almost offensive, and nothing at all couldn't be appropriate, so wine it was.
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"Oh--I'm sure it'll taste better than the beer. It was kind of you to bring it."
Why? Why was it kind? He's drinking it. What word does she actually want? Thoughtful?
Nothing has actually changed. She remembers that. This is just lunch and seeing what kind of fondness they might have for each other. It's sensible. Breathe in, breathe out.
"Which do you want? And if you say wine, we're going to have to drink the beer very quickly to free up the cups. And I'm an awful drinker."
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"Uh, up to you, but won't drinking beer and wine together make you sick... I always forget how that rhyme goes and just avoid mixing altogether. You can keep the bottle for later if you'd like. Promise, I won't tell anyone," He sneaks in a wink as he sits down and gets comfortable, handing the bottle over to her.
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She eases into a comfortable posture, slouching a bit toward him so their shoulders touch. It could be platonic, for all anyone knows.
"All right. The highlight of the hour."
She starts divvying up the pie between the two plates, drizzling each slice with the gravy it was cooked in.
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He waits to drink until she's passed him a plate and then raises his glass for a toast. "To... meat pies?" He asks with a lopsided smile, "It looks amazing. And you made it?"
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"No, I traded for it. From the kitchen." A faint wince into her cup as she drinks. "I can cook, but not this well."
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"I didn't mean... This is lovely, Pel. Honest. I can't imagine it would be very easy to arrange for some kitchen space to cook something anyway," And how would she randomly have ingredients on her? No, now that he actually thought things through it'd been a slightly ridiculous question to begin with.
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He took a quick glance at her beer and had to wonder if she'd started much earlier before he'd arrived.
This wasn't actually the first mostly nonsensical rant he'd sat through, and he'd learned from his first handful of experiences that it was jut best to keep his mouth shut and nod. Until- "Uh. Wait. A relationship?"
He blinks at her, now very confused, "Pel, we've only just met, and anyway, I-" He shakes head, "You wouldn't want anything to do with me anyway. You can do much better."
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"I thought--I thought Marchers--you know, forget everything I said. I thought--I was saying that we're just getting to know one another. And some people...I say that to, I say we'll see what happens, and he starts dreaming of our wedding, and I wanted to be sure you know this isn't like that. I've been burned, is all. I'm sorry if I alarmed you."
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"I wasn't aware you were interested. I wouldn't want to presume just because you offered to share a few meat pies that... well, you know," He says, speaking softly. He gives her a nod as she explains herself, "It's alright. And, for what it's worth, I'm sorry to hear that.
Anyway. You deserve much better than someone like me."
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"I've had that said to me before. But it's never been a statement that's about me. It's what people say when they don't like themselves much."
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A fleeting smile.
"Well. Let me know if that changes. In the meantime, we can be friends, can't we? I like being around you."
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Of course, now the idea was there, which was always a little problematic.
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"These are terrific. What did you say you had to give for them? Maybe I can return the favor in a bit," He said contently before taking a drink of the ale Pel had brought.
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for Katniss
Pel is sitting on her trade blanket with a stack of books and writing on the inside cover of one--Sam's copy, with a special note and an autograph as requested. She looks up as Katniss approaches and slides one copy off the top of the stack, wordlessly offering it.
Re: for Katniss
"As you can see, I've gotten a little ... ambitious."
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One booted foot kicked out a little, as Katniss shifted, restless. "It got to me. All of it."
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She leaned her head against Pel's shoulder, bumping her for a moment. "Can you help me trim it down?"
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Alistair's mother had given her child away rather than let it be known he was a half-blood. This is what people do.
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for Merrick
"I have a surprise," she says mysteriously, before offering a little box. Inside is crumbly cakes of maple candy, the sort they were raised on.
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