Get up, get up, get out and get done

[dreadinquisitor]

WHO: Maxwell and Open
WHAT: General day-to-day activities
WHEN: Before the Orlais shenanigans kick off
WHERE: Around Skyhold
NOTES: Nothing at the moment.

Gardens:

Before the day official began, Maxwell took some time out for himself (and Gavin, when the elf so chose) in the quiet of the morning garden. A cup of tea in hand, he would walk slowly along the paths, stopping sometimes by the chess board set in the pavilion to see if anyone were up for an early game. He'd pause to watch the ray of the sun climb over the walls, and he'd stop to check his new mailbox, looking to see if anyone had left something his attention.

Flipping through whatever notes he found, he read them as he finished his tea, and then silently ordered them into a pile to-do.

Skyhold in General (just let me know where you want to be):

The days of getting lost in the great castle were well behind him now, as his new duties kept him on the move. Down into the kitchens and wine cellar, taking stock and checking in with the staff, into the guest wings to wrangle and herd visiting dignitaries, anywhere he was needed and sometimes even those where he technically wasn't.

Even if he weren't necessarily the man who should be dealing with whatever the problem might be, he'd help if he could.

Archery Range:

When time allowed, he stole away to the archery range, both to keep his own skills up and to continue to offer them to others. New arrows, fletching, bows, customization, he was happy to help for a reasonable price. And if you just wanted to some tips? Those were free.

Tavern:

As sun began to sink and the day began to crawl toward its end, Maxwell went off-duty (as much as he could) and unwound the stresses and strains of the day in the tavern with a hot meal, and sometimes a hotter drink on the especially rough days.

This was one such day.

Rumors were swirling that the Inquisition was turning its eyes to the War of the Lions and Orlais. It seemed only a matter of time that they'd be directed into the Empire and Maxwell was... hesitant. He had family in Orlais. On his mother's side.

It was one thing when they were thousands of miles away, regulated to stern, unpleasant letters. The though of perhaps being caught face-to-face.... He knew what he wanted, and wouldn't allow them to change it. But that didn't mean he was looking forward to that ugly day.

He ate and drank and sketched in his journal to try to put aside for the time being, mouth pulling into a thin frown as he struggled to forget.

Comments

Archery

[universal_charm]

Maxwell had promised him archery lessons, and Kirk wasn't one to pass it up when something of an expert offered them. So he had come to find him one morning when he wasn't required to work, hoping Maxwell would be available, and low and behold he was. Kirk loved it when things worked out like that.

"Am I doing this right?" he asked his teacher, finger tips brushing the corner of his lips as he spoke, pulling the string of his bow back, arm already straining with the effort.

[dreadinquisitor]

While Maxwell was certainly happy to help any who asked for it, there was something he truly enjoyed about teaching a true beginner. The look in their eyes, the light coming alive, if they took to it; the simple pleasure of finding something one enjoyed crossing their faces.

It was nice to find fellows, as well as knowing he helped bring them together.

He stood to the side, arms folded, watching Kirk silently as the man took his stance. His head tipped slightly, eyes moving over him... then he shifted and reached out.

"Watch your arm," he said, touching Kirk's elbow gently, coaxing him to bend it just slightly. "You don't want to be stiff. Otherwise when you release, the only thing you'll be hitting is yourself with the string."

[universal_charm]

Kirk had decided he needed to learn more about the ways to defend himself here. He had his own methods, learned from the Fleet, and Sam's staff, but he couldn't rely on solely those forever. It would be in his better interest to get better with knives, and learn something like the bow. Especially for hunting.

He took the direction Maxwell gave him, adjusting accordingly. "Wouldn't want that," he breathed out a soft laugh. "This close to me cheek - that means the fletching brushes your skin every time, doesn't it? Does that help with the sight lines?"

[dreadinquisitor]

Maxwell touched his wrist, angling his arm down by a fraction.

"It's about consistency," he explained. "You want to bring it back to the same spot each time." He stepped back and mimed the movement, using his opposite side so Kirk could see. "It's the heel of my palm, for me. Just against the corner of my mouth."

He dropped the stance and looked back Kirk.

"Without it, your sights will be set different each time you draw and like lightning, you'll never strike twice."

[universal_charm]

He let the other move him, doing his best to keep his elbow where Maxwell had positioned it. He had thought he was in shape, but god, holding this thing back was taxing. He would need to work in some more resistance exercises from now besides the running. Clearly Khan's augmented blood had only done so much for him. It had been easy at first, but holding the position was becoming taxing.

Blue yes watched as Maxwell performed a draw, pursing his lips a fraction as he took it in.

"Is that the best place, or is it different for everyone?" he asked him, adjusting his pull the fraction necessary to touch his heel to the corner of his mouth. The part about sights made sense, especially without HUDs to help aim. "How long did it take you to figure out where your spot was?"

[dreadinquisitor]

"There's some difference," Maxwell smiled lightly. "Different heights, different arm lengths. It should be comfortable for you. What feels natural. If it's something you're going to have to force, you're going to be thinking about it too much."

There was a beat, his eyes running over Kirk's stance again, nothing the slight waver in his arm.

"You also don't want to hold too long-- go ahead and relax, and then draw again. And as soon as you feel ready, as soon as you've made your aim, release."

[universal_charm]

He saw the logic behind that. In battle you didn't have time to think about the draw, or even on the hunt. You would need to be able to draw and aim in a matter of seconds, and having your "spot" ingrained into your muscles would be the difference between putting food on the table and going hungry. Or, perhaps, your life.

A sigh left him as he relaxed his arm, slowly rotating it to loosen the muscle but keep it warm before he drew away. "You think I'm ready to start firing a real arrow?" he asked with some wry amusement.

[dreadinquisitor]

"You have to take the first shot sometime," Maxwell pointed out, mouth quirked in a gentle smile. "Even if you only get three feet, at least it'll be out of the way and we'll know where to start."

He settled back on his heels, arms folding as he waited.

"I promise I won't laugh. I had to do this once, too. I remember."

The thump in his chest, the heat in his palms, the weight of the other students eyes and his instructor's judgment.... Even competing in the Tourney had been easier than that stretch of heartbeats.

[universal_charm]

"Laugh and you owe me a drink," he said as he picked up an arrow, knocking it as he had been taught.

He paused for a second, drawing a breath before raising the bow and pulling the string back. His arm felt the strain, and while he did have to adjust to the "spot" he wanted for his draw, he wasn't that far off, which was kind of proud of. Another breath, and - release!

The arrow, thankfully, went further than three feet, but it definitely went far wide of the mark he had been aiming for. So - not bad?

skyhold; kitchens general area-ish

[hlif]

Another month begins and that means another delivery from Hardie Holdings has trundled up the mountain, and it also means that all the Boneflayers have mysteriously disappeared to leave Asher to deal with it on his own since he's well enough to do that this time. Which he's grateful for, in a way, but well it's still a pain in the arse when people still don't like the sight of a mercenary trying to find out where things are meant to be sent to.

So when he spots Maxwell, he gives a shout, nodding at the salted beef slung over his shoulder. "Wouldn't happen to know where new supplies go? Got a wagon of stuff from the family farm and the cook is being spectacularly unhelpful as usual."

[dreadinquisitor]

On his way out, Maxwell stopped at the shout, turned back-- and his eyes widened comically, eyebrows jumping toward his hairline.

"What did you do?" he asked, corners of his mouth pulling into the beginnings of a wide grin. "Slaughter a bronto?"

[hlif]

"Believe me, I wish I could slaughter the thing but I'd need to pay for it." It might be the family farm but his mother would actually make sure his father got him to pay them back for any harm that came to the stupid stubborn lump even though it was more likely to harm him or the crew. "Start of the month, family sent their usual delivery run from holdings to Skyhold. Mostly meats, assorted cheeses, homebrew but there's some vegetables and pickled stuff this month too."

[dreadinquisitor]

Maxwell laughed softly.

"Well, I'm still impressed regardless." Head tipping, he eyed the cut for a moment. "As it's traveled, I assume it's already been cured?"

If not, it was going to the kitchens whether they liked it or not.

"I think it should be safe in the cellar - with the wine perhaps? It's dry, cool, and out of the way."

[hlif]

"One half's been salted, the other half's been smoked. Something about variety she probably wrote it down, mothers are like that and I don't really care." And a poor passing servant almost ended up being smacked in the face with the meat as Asher used it to gesture expansively regarding the number of fucks given about his mother and her instructions.

She could come do this herself if she cared that much.

"Lead the way then, didn't realise you were this official; still got your cosy little Chateau?"

[dreadinquisitor]

"Lord of the Cheeses," Maxwell replied, wry amusement pulling at his lips. "A life or death position that wouldn't give to just anyone."

Truthfully, it was more than that, but it was important to keep things in perspective.

He gestured for Asher to follow him, and glanced over his shoulder as they started to walk.

"Jealous?" he joked. "I could invite you over for cocktails."

[hlif]

"Now is that of all cheeses or does that get divded up regionally? Because I've been to Orlesian parties where they bring out the cheese platters, and some of those would clear a room faster than a rotting bogfisher stewing it its own filth." No one deserved a fate involving stinky cheeses.

"Can't you tell, green with envy mate. But I'm thrilled for you, glad folk are moving up in the world if it means I'm getting drinks out of it." It put a definite spring in his step to be offered drinks but then Asher would probably drink the Thedas equivalent of paint stripper quite happily if it did the job of getting him drunk.

[dreadinquisitor]

"Fortunately it also comes with the ability to delegate," Maxwell replied with smirk and a wink as they descended into Skyhold's lower levels, the temperature cooling and the castle's general din falling away. "And I have delegated death-stink cheese off my list of duties."

Approaching the door to the wine cellar, Maxwell pushed it in and held it open for Asher to follow.

"I'm even thinking I might have a lock put on Chateau Cupboard."

The true height of luxury in Skyhold.

Tavern

[gatheringstorm]

Maxwell's a familiar sight in the Herald's Rest, of course. Korrin, a visitor almost every night, raises her tankard at him and nods from her spot at the bar. Usually, she's at a table claiming it for a game of Wicked Grace or some such, but at the moment she doesn't have anyone else to claim it for.

"Hey, congrats on...." And she trails off as she notes the frown and tension. "...or maybe this isn't the best time."

[dreadinquisitor]

"Hmm?" Quill pausing, Maxwell looked up - and then up some more - and then small frown between his eyebrows relaxed slightly as he realized who had joined him. "Oh, Korrin, no. You're fine."

He leaned back in his chair and offered her a small, but genuine smile.

"Did you need something?"

[gatheringstorm]

"I heard about you being promoted to aid Josephine. That is good news, right?" At the moment, given his demeanor of a moment ago, she can't be sure. "More paperwork, sure, but they wouldn't have assigned you if they didn't believe you could pull it off."

[dreadinquisitor]

His smile tilted, shifted, became lightly wry.

"I can't say whether they offered to me for my ability, or for my name-" still useful, for the time being, "-but I'm doing my best regardless."

Setting down his quill along the spine of his book, he gestured for her to join him.

"Hopefully it will help."

[gatheringstorm]

Korrin does, gesturing for a round of ales. "Every bit does, even if it doesn't seem like it at the time. The Inquisition built itself up from practically nothing, after all. As long as you can put that name to good use, why the hell not? It's the doing that matters."

[dreadinquisitor]

He glanced down and away, then back as the drinks arrived.

"Hopefully everyone still feels that way if the name stops being worthwhile," he said, reaching for one of the tankards and pulling it closer. "...My family doesn't know yet."

Or, if they did, he hadn't gotten the frothing letter yet.

"I don't imagine they're going to be as pleased by it."

[gatheringstorm]

That gets a raised eyebrow out of Korrin, who's baffled. "What, they don't support the Inquisition? They'd rather get consumed by a giant hole in the sky and the darkspawn magister asshole who created it?" Okay, not everyone knows the details of what they're up against, but still. This was sanctioned by the Divine; that should get even the stodgiest people to pay attention.

"Or...look, if it's a sore subject, I can steer clear. I meant to congratulate you, not make your day worse."

[dreadinquisitor]

He linked his fingers around the tankard and shook his head.

"No, it's alright." He'd been having the argument so much, in the quiet of his own head, maybe saying it aloud would actually help. "They've--" a pause, one of his eyes narrowing in consideration, "--come to see the Inquisition as a temporary necessity."

Putting it politely.

"They're just confused as to why I remain. I, as a man of standing, have a duty to family and position... and I should be fulfilling that. This promotion cements my dedication to the Inquisition, when I'm quite certain they were expecting I would sow my oats--" A twitch. A tightening around his eyes, at the corner of his mouth. "--And then return home where I belong."