faderift | [ OPEN ] We shift and turn and swear and yearn

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[ OPEN ] We shift and turn and swear and yearn

WHO: Adelaide & you
WHAT: Catch All for the month
WHEN: June/Justinian
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: Wine, swearing, PUPPIES, allusions to demonic violence. Prose or Brackets are fine, roll with what you like most. If you want a specific prompt hit me up on plurk @ here!

[ Courtyard -> Stables ]

When her sister wrote 'their arrival is imminent' Adelaide had not quite considered how imminent Juliette meant. Perhaps she might have been better prepared for signing off with the courier when they herd the rather rambunctious litter of several month old mabari pups to one of the few empty stalls in the barn. Playful things that they are- Dennet is a horse master not a hound master and it will be some time before the appropriate point of authority finds their way down to check on the five puppies ready for imprinting or...whatever it is these dogs do- but they will need minding until they are handed off and as she'd had the fortune to sign for them- Adelaide finds herself sitting in the barn, trying to keep the dogs from gnawing on one another, on her, or on anything valuable. Moments like this are a thorough reminder as to why she is a cat person.

[ Library ]

She can be found, as ever, at her table tucked into one of the unoccupied nooks of the library- a cold cup of tea at her elbow, a sheaf of notes she writes and reorganizes- a quill on occasion hovering over a sheet of blank paper and mimicking her notes stroke for stroke so she might produce them in duplicate. So long as she remembers exactly how she's laid out the paper, it works well enough. For questions, comments, concerns, condemnations or complications that have arisen during research she has made herself thoroughly available.

[ Return of the Attache ]

"No." That is all she has to say. No. She won't bother to stop or listen, she won't bother to mind him in the slightest- that same family attache doggedly tails Adelaide about the hold, hovering just behind with a leatherbound sheaf of papers in his hand while he awaits for some sign that she'll take them or at least listen. He spends the bulk of his time holding the odd extra book or pen or, in a singularly distressing moment, a pad of gauze against a seeping wound as she mends a patient in the healing tents. He's a step down from a personal valet- he is not meant to be dealing with literal bloody commoners and yet- this is his life. Someone please help him convince Adelaide to at least take the papers and look at them.

AFTER JUSTINIAN 19th

[ Stairs ]

After the final ritual is all said, done, and finished Adelaide finds she has a wealth of extra time due to no longer needing to spend several hours picking apart what went wrong with the last and what could go wrong with the next- and at least a few hours extra that she'd otherwise spend training with Martel in the evenings due to the incontinence that is her leg. Magic, even hers, can only do so much and the nasty break in that last fight leaves her less walking with the calm poise she's known for and more hobbling from place to place, staff less an afterthought and more a requirement for keeping her weight off her leg. At the moment she's glowering at the stones underfoot as she takes one slow, shuffling step up the stairs at a time. Her research is in the library- and eventually she would make her way there. Just- give her some time.

[ Healing Tents ]

Here, at least, there are fewer stairs. Adelaide splits her time between minding patients and beginning new notations on old research she'd set aside- tending to those she could while moving as little as possible for the first few days. Her humor is...subdued, somewhat, but that is easily explained by the weight of her work of the past months finally catching up now that she is forced to spend less time on her feet. Now and then she might be caught dozing, chin tipped to her chest, fingers still holding the page of her book in place.

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"Are you certain you wish to do this?" Any experimentation with the shards is risky, that goes without saying. But Sina's in particular...it is concerning. The last Adelaide had seen it react with anything the girl had very nearly perished. She had, in fact, and that is- something she would rather avoid seeing a second time. "We can work on the theory a bit longer if you'd prefer."

Eventually someone manages to get Adelaide to look at the sheaf of papers. Eventually she stops laughing afterward. Eventually she drags both the very fine legal documents and attache both to Martel for a proper signing and customary drinking of apple brandy. "It seems my nagging has come through, Telquet."

With a flourish she offers the pages, awaiting his signature and the Attache's seal. "You are to be a LeBlanc in truth after all."

"You realize, given our track record, this will likely kill you." It is late, she is weary, and she's tipped the ratio of tea to brandy more heavily in favor of brandy the longer they've sat to look over the notes for this final thing. This last attempt before...what? She gave Nate leave to kill justice? Before she took Asher's advice and took a knife to Anders in his sleep? Adelaide sighs and sips deeply, topping her cup with tea. Then brandy. Then a touch more tea to feel a little less like a lush. "Or me. I have ten sovereigns on this killing me."

It isn't the outcome she'd expected- oh someone was going to die in that mess of a ritual, it was too complicated for everyone to walk away unscathed and considering the established pattern? More than one of them should be dead. But no. Justice is gone, Anders is free, several people were terribly injured and...knowing that this thing could work does not bring as much comfort as it ought. There is no way to test it a second time as they are fresh out of abominations. The usual thrill of being right, of pulling off the theoretically impossible is absent. Hobbling is entirely inelegant but it does not seem terribly wise to drink alone and Dorian is not one to make house calls. Thus she stirs herself to shuffle her way to his rooms, knocking and waiting with a bottle of very fine Orlesian wine tucked into her elbow. If she is to drink, she will drink well.

Cullen hears that Adelaide has received a large shipment from home. Not through normal channels, but through the happy coincidence of Jim walking past the gates during the delivery process on his way to see Cullen. He tosses it out as an off-hand comment, and Cullen waits for her arrival. Except she does not come. Which is strange. Even when her family's contributions do not include anything specifically for him, she tells him what supplies have been allocated and where. She knows he likes to know.

Rather than sit and wonder, when the thoughts in his mind begin to muddle and he knows he will be useless without a break to clear his head, he leaves his office and goes looking for her. It doesn't take him long to be directed to the stables, and the idea that it might be new tack for the mounts, which would be quite a welcome addition to the Inquisition's supplies, is chased away by the sound of gentle snuffling yips coming from a generous bed of straw in a seemingly empty stall. "Are those--?"

It dimly occurs that she ought to have sent word shortly after signing- it is customary to keep Cullen informed; there are not Senior Enchanters here to which she reports such things and it's a habit to tell someone of what has been brought in. That most of it is for the Inquisition's direct use and relevant to Cullen works out neatly, even if half of it is some manner of bribe for influence or information or- whatever it is her mother is after. It matters little.

What matters is she hadn't kept to the routine and feels slightly guilty for dragging Cullen from his tower- up until he grounds the corner. Fereldans and their dogs. "The litter I mentioned some months ago. They have been sent as a token of good will and proof of the Lowell's bloodlines."

The messenger had coming running up to his make-shift desk out in the courtyard, where James was frowning at a pile of objects in front of him, and some crumpled and blood-stained reports. The frown disappeared however, when the messenger informed him that yes, the latest supply run had brought in a set of mabari puppies and yes, Lady LeBlanc had signed for them.

To say that James was swift about getting all of his things put away was ... something of an understatement.

He made his way towards the stable, quick as you please, green eyes bright with hope. He wasn't sure if one of the puppies would even imprint with him, but Adelaide had promised him a try ...

She might take that back, as he choked on a laugh at the sight of her, surrounded by the little bundles of fur.

"Not a word, James." She was attempting to keep them in line, not...playing. Trying to keep them from tugging her down to their level and somewhat failing as she'd let herself be pulled from the chair into the hay proper, one rolling around on her lap, another gnawing on the hem of her skirts. Cats were much less...messy. And more self sufficient. "Not. One. Word."

He is totally not grinning like a child. Not on the outside, anyway. No, he is walking slowly toward the wriggling pile of puppy with the calm countenance of a man in an important position of authority who takes his duties incredibly seriously. "I admit, I do not know much about Mabari stock." He kneels next to the stall and reaches out his gloved hands to gently pick a rusty red puppy off of the horse blanket that's been press ganged into service as a dog bed. The puppy is not overly interested in him, but does take advantage of the way he's holding it-- her-- to gnaw on her back paw, which is now much easier to reach. "They seem healthy. Energetic. Good weight, I assume?" Yup, just checking out the quality of a valuable gift made to the Inquisition's cause. Totally not reveling in the fact that he's dreamed of owning a Mabari since he was three years old, and now here he is crouched next to five of them.

Right, he couldn't help himself. It was just the sight of Adelaide Le Blanc, proper and sardonic, getting overwhelmed by puppies -- right, he let out a belly laugh. Her expression? Her words? Just made him double over with laughter even more.

See, not one word. Just snickering. That was all right, yes?

"I am afraid I know only what they have written, but while it is in their best interest to insist the bloodlines are pure and their hounds superior to other kennels in Fereldan, I do not know my sister to brag. It is unbecoming of a lady- even if she has married a Fereldan." Happily so, at least if the letters are anything to go by. It is not a position in life that had been expected, merely embraced. Adelaide can understand something of that. "Good teeth, excellent hearing, all of them of the appropriate temperament to make for a warrior's stout companion in and out of the field."

And ripe for imprinting, though Adelaide honestly cannot say she understands how such a thing is done. "You find them satisfactory, Commander?"

With all the gravity she might offer an applicant for aid or resources to the Mage Council, all the cool composed consideration she'd given her students in the spire- Adelaide drew herself and muttered. "No puppy for you."

Which would be easier to keep with were they not scrambling at the newest visitor. "Ah- no, you do not need to gnaw upon his boots- actually it is terribly rude, his laughing, so please. Gnaw away."

And of course, almost every single day, the cold cup of tea was put aside for a hot one, and a plate of something warm and baked would be put at Adelaide's side as Bethany entered and dropped into a comfortable seat next to her, putting down her own cup of tea. Then the tray was put aside for her stack of spirit magic books.

A quiet, and warm, "Good morning Adelaide," usually followed, and then Bethany waited for the other woman to notice she was there. Sometimes it took a minute or two - sometimes she would be deep in her own notes and finished with her own baked goods before she would be startled by Adelaide finally speaking to her.

Really just depended on the day.

He stood up, grinning from ear to ear, before he arched an eyebrow at her, "Well I can always leave you here with all five if that's the case - ah!"

The puppies were now all scrambling around his boots, and he could not help himself, he knelt among them so he could stroke furry small heads and take all the slobbery kisses to his fingers as they barked and yelped around him.

"Well, aren't you a handsome bunch?" He murmured in a tone that said that whatever front he might have put up, he would be loathe to leave without one of the puppies.

"They are of the Lowell's Kennels- of course they are handsome." Bred and raised by a LeBlanc, how could they be anything but the perfect specimen of whatever was desired of a mabari, and then some? Adelaide sniffed and shooed, prompting a veritable wave of puppy antics around Norrington as he knelt. "I do not know how it is done, this imprinting, but I assume one must sit in the hay and...play with them."

Or something like that. Maker only knew.

Cullen gives her a mildly exasperated look at her crack about Fereldens. "Surely there must be a few of us that meet with your approval." Adelaide is one of few people whose barbs don't annoy him. Mostly because they are blunted. While her humour might be sarcastic, her heart is invested in looking toward the future, not living stubournly rooted in the past. While he is in no position to judge most people who can not hold that view, it does not mean that they frustrate him any less, or that they do not impede progress.

When she mentions teeth, he lifts the lip of the puppy in his hands so he can look at her gums while she gnaws on her toes. Though, once the taste of leather is introduced, she switches her attention and bites down on his finger, a little harder than he was prepared for. Still, he doesn't drop her. She's just a puppy. A very cute one, at that.

The first few times Adelaide might have startled at the motion, might have questioned. But now it was so much a part of her routine she thought nothing of it, offering only a murmured "Good Morning, Bethany." In reply.

Given another ten to fifteen minutes, depending on how long it took her to rouse herself from her notes, Adelaide would actually look up and register that, yes, Bethany was there and, yes, there was fresh tea. "What are we studying today?"

"Mm. Perhaps you and Leliana. For all that she sounds Orlesian apparently she counts herself as one of yours." Most of her commentary against Fereldans as of late is obligatory more than anything else. They fight just as hard, fear just as deeply- even if they wade through the mud more often than their Orlesian fellows. Under the Inquisition nationality does not matter half so much.

It holds a greater appeal than she might have thought, that sentiment.

Somewhere among the muddle- a puppy yawns. It is a contagious thing, spreading from muzzle to muzzle until even the disinterested one in Cullen's hands is caught by it, giving a hi pitched whine to the tail end of the sound. "Perhaps you ought to spend some time with them? I know you expressed interest in one of your own."

He takes a breath and stirs his tea.

"It's a thought that's been heavily on my mind since the last. Not your death. My own. I don't..." Another breath, and he sips his tea slowly. This isn't something he's talked about with anyone else despite how often it's come to mind.

"The pain in my head from the last, the disorientation... if it does not work, I will probably die. And then you're all left with Justice in my corpse, at which point Nate's in far more danger than you if that's any consolation." He doesn't expect it to be. "I've tried starting notes for recommendations for that situation four times now; for some reason my hand doesn't want to write."

That's the biggest reason right there he's still going forward despite how it might turn out. The struggle for his body can only get worse. They're already clashing over extremist measures and mages again, over how Anders has now worked with Merrill in Weisshaupt, how he's offering tentative trust to a few Templars. It would be so easy to give in to black and white views and measures again and that terrifies him despite how he's keeping his tone easy and level.

"I've at least managed to write a few letters. A few of them have the 'civilly yours' salutation, because I can, on occasion, be uncivil." He needs the jokes as much as he needs the brandy in his tea.

Maybe someone will convince Adelaide to take those papers and give the poor man a break, but it won't be Korrin. Annoyed at her friend having this nonsense thrown in her face once again, especially when she wanted to kidnap her for a much-needed break, the Vashoth woman ignores personal space bubbles and just looms in front of the attache, giving him the stink-eye. It may not be his fault that he's sent back here, but she seriously doesn't care. Annoy Adelaide, annoy her. And annoying her is never wise.

"I have taken such an outcome into account." In five or six variations, actually. It is not a pleasant business, planning the murder of the corpse of a- an associate. A whatever it is they might have been were their lives different. That does not matter. This working or ending cleanly? That matters. She pours him a measure of tea and tops it off with brandy. It is not the night before, nor even the night before the night before-

But making peace with one another and what may come seems the wisest course.

"No harm will come to Nathaniel- provided I am not killed during the ritual. He will be safe. In this? You have my word." And she keeps her word- it goes unsaid. He does not need to hear more than that from her to know she will do anything in her power to make certain Nathaniel does not get killed if she can help it. "Only on occasion."

Whatever reason he'd been giving this time slowly sputters to a halt, the man's voice completely stolen. Adelaide peers up to see what has silenced him this time- and a smile blooms. Small and weary, but sincere enough. "Rinot."

There's a flick of the man's eyes between her and Korrin at so familiar an address. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

When the puppy yawns, there is an involuntary sound at the back of Cullen's throat, like a young boy whose voice has just cracked. He clears his throat to move past the moment, and returns the puppy to her siblings, where she promptly begins to chew on one of their ears. "That was the dream of a young boy. At that age, my younger sister wanted to be a cat. We grow out of those dreams." A slight pause. "One would hope." Yet he doesn't stand and leave. He has no plans to take a puppy, but that doesn't mean he can't spend a little time here.

It comes down to the responsible rationing of supplies, which these dogs have now become. "Only five puppies, and there are those who spend far more time in the field than I do, face far more danger." A Mabari would be of better use in the field. He drops his chin, as though he's just caught a rough edge on a word. "I do not mean to sound ungrateful. It is a very generous contribution, and very much appreciated. I only mean that there are more-- beneficial ways to-- allocate this particular resource." He doesn't need a puppy. Maybe in an ideal world, where there were plenty to go around, to add to the ferocity of their forces and keep everyone who comes to the Inquisition safe with enough left over to spare a companion for a man who feels shackled to his desk some days.

Ah ha- there it is. The hook. Not that she has any way of knowing how a mabari chooses or if one of these five might wish to lay claim to Cullen- but if she does not con him into spending a little more time here? Neither of them shall ever know. "They do need to be socialized. In their Kennel my sister and her children would spend most of the day with them to make sure they were comfortable with people."

Stay a little while, Commander. Sit. Enjoy the scent of sweet hay and the snuffling of puppy noses. "There is also something to be said for appearance, though I know you care little for it. But- a General and his mabari. Now that makes for a striking image does it not? It is fitting that you should at least have an opportunity to sit and see if any might choose you- for as best I understand them they choose whom they wish and all we might do is respect that."

Respect a dog's opinion. She has been spending far, far too much time among Fereldans if she's actually entertaining the notion- but if it helps Cullen to sit and at least relax for a little while longer? To stop looking with quite such resigned yearning?

She has not seen many wandering about Skyhold- but since her conversation with Asher the thought lingers. Nags at the back of her mind- the talk with Pel not long after certainly didn't help. She cannot unlearn that which she has been taught, cannot change her interpretation- but if she knows more she can, perhaps, ease some of the damage done should this continue to go wrong.

And knowing their current results as they are? Something will go very wrong.

It isn't the most tactful approach- Adelaide slipping from her tent and calling out as soon as she sees the young woman- "Might I borrow a moment of your time?"

A beat.

"I will provide a meal if you have not yet eaten." People tend to humor questions a bit better if they are being fed for free, she's noticed.

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Page 1 of 17

[ OPEN ] We shift and turn and swear and yearn

SINA AND HER SHARD

MARTEL AND HIS PAPERWORK

ANDERS AND HIS PROBLEM

DORIAN AND HIS WINE

STABLES

STABLES

James and his Mabari

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Library - before the 19th

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Library - before the 19th

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Return of the Attache (w/puppies, later?)

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Return of the Attache (w/puppies, later!!!)

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LEXA AND HER INTERVIEW