faderift | (no subject)

WHO: Raylan Givens and YOU!
WHAT: Raylan's getting used to Skyhold. Slowly.
WHEN: Mid-late Justinian, maybe into early Solace
WHERE: All around Skyhold
NOTES: Feel free to tag in whether we've discussed CR or not, and pp me on

shockvaluecola if you want a closed starter or you have an idea that doesn't fit a starter here.

kitchens
Raylan narrowly avoided getting snapped with the towel the cook was brandishing at him, chasing him away from the door.

"I wasn't doing anything, I swear!" he protested. "I ain't hardly had a vegetable in months, I'm just trying not to die of scurvy. You trying to make me die of scurvy?"

The cook's response was uncomplimentary in the extreme, and Raylan almost got actually offended, until he remembered the cook might come at him with a frying pan next time. She shouted something to the effect of "and stay out!" then slammed the door. Raylan sighed, perching his hands on his skinny hips, and debated the merits of scratching at the door and whining like a puppy.

battlements
This man is definitely a little old to be climbing on battlements, but here he is. He might be found sitting on one of the high parts of the wall, feet dangling as he faces into the castle, or down in a crenellation, looking out. The lofts of towers with broken roofs aren't safe either, though for the faint of heart, he might just be walking along. Regardless, he'll call out to you as you pass.

"Hey! Yeah, come here a second, look at this."

library
Raylan was not impressed with this library at all.

Yes, it had plenty of books and very nice chairs and everything, but the organizational system, as far as he could tell, was completely insane. History and battle tactics shelved together? Chantry scholarship and spellbooks? Who on Thedas had thought of that, and why hadn't anyone else slapped them in the head? Raylan could be found muttering as he rifled through a shelf trying to find something, having some choice things to say about the brains of whoever had set up these shelves.

courtyard
Raylan had found a block of scrap wood and a sturdy knife somewhere, and set to work. He'd been on a stool in some tucked-away corner of the courtyard for a few hours now, and he was holding a little wooden dragon in his hands. She wasn't particularly detailed, but the broad strokes were there, like for a child's toy. Her wings were spread and her head forward, like she was flying. Raylan was focusing on trying to get her to actually take flight now. He frowned with intense concentration at his wooden creation, willing her to move. The problem was, Raylan had definitely made his creations move and come to life, but he wasn't completely sure how, so his ability to reproduce it on command was sporadic at best.

If someone was very lucky, they might be there when her wings began to flap, lifting her up and away from Raylan's hand.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Shit, if you're that hard up there's elfroot in the garden you can chew on. Healers just got it grow'n all over with mint." Except they don't like it when someone that's not supposed to starts digging around their plants for something to eat. "Scurvy's what happens when you don't have 'nuf fruit. Why d'ya think boats always have lime on hand?"

The fruit, not the mineral shit. "Just stand and look sad and skinny and pathetic while I do the talk'n. If she reaches for the broom, oranges are usually in a wicker basket close to the back door. I'll try for some carrots, you go for the oranges."

"Well I ain't had any a' that either," Raylan said, but he liked this plan. It wasn't going to be hard to look skinny and pathetic -- he was skinny, both from being underfed and from a natural tendency to leanness, and he concentrated for a moment to look as wounded as possible. The thought of chewing on elfroot ought to do it. He'd done plenty of that before joining.

"We goin' in?" Raylan asked, looking like a sad kitten.

"Sure are." He can't quite hear if she'd slipped through the other door, but it's been long 'nuf and he's got a hanker'n for some kinda food what he didn't have to pay for his own self. Mal hauls the door open and urges Raylan inside. "Just like that. Give 'em the eyes."