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

[hlif]

"Ah, the minions will learn to stay on your good side or else risk being shunned by Skyhold when they can't get the smell of Camembert out of their clothes."

Ducking slightly since most doorways had never been made with Asher in mind, a mistake he had painfully learned in his youth, he gasped, turning with both eyebrows raised. Locks? Practically Orlesian amidst what was honestly devastatingly Ferelden in its savagery if looking at the state of Skyhold as a whole.

"I have a tent and just the usual sock on the tent flap rule, though mercenaries being mercenaries and having two former Carta dwarves in the company, it doesn't always work as well as you'd expect." Or since said dwarves liked to say that they'd seen it all before so what more was there to see, which was sort of the point whilst still managing to miss it by a country mile.

A lock, what giddy heights Maxwell has ascended to that the rest of them might only dream of.

[dreadinquisitor]

Maxwell waited for Asher to duck his way inside, then released the door to turn to try and find something to hang the meat with. Like most corners of Skyhold, the wine cellar had collected its fair share of items outside its prescribed purpose. Rooting in an aged barrel smelling faintly of vinegar he produced a length of rope.

"What can I say, there comes a time in a man's life when he gets tired of Wicked Gracing his way into a bedroll everything night," he joked, gesturing for Asher to lower his burden so he could knot the rope around one end. "And my best socks keep disappearing."

[hlif]

"Is that what the young squires are calling it these days? Well, I never plan to be too old to do that but it's easier when you've got a whole tent for it filled with pelts and skulls and weapons." Aesthetics were always important and plenty of folk were curious enough to come for at least a peek, and then there were all Asher's scars that he'd added to since he'd made that first trip up the mountain all those months ago now.

Hanging the meat up, he gave a snort. "Don't know if that says more about you or the company you keep."

[dreadinquisitor]

"Now, I'm jealous," Maxwell laughed as they hoisted the hock together. "All I've got are Skyhold's junk crates, cleaning supplies, and the spiders too ill-mannered to just die like the others."

Once the meat was up, he stepped back to eyeball it a moment, making sure it was high enough for his liking before turning to tie off the rope.

"And both probably. We were fighting the rights to a store cupboard."

[hlif]

"For a reasonable fee we do clear out spiders. Bronson might even eat some of them to be honest or I'll take them back to feed to the hens. The camp children keep bringing all sorts of creepy crawlies to feed them." So either Asher was going to end up with the strongest chickens in Skyhold or one day they'd lay an egg and some really bizarre abomination of nature would hatch out of it, either way Asher would be winning. "You should come down for a drink though and the stuff from the farm we keep for ourselves. Everyone's welcome by our fire."

And didn't those next words just prove his point? "Maxwell, my good man, next time? Ask the professionals. I'd only need to smile at them and you'd wouldn't have had to lose your socks in the line of duty."

[dreadinquisitor]

Another laugh, Maxwell stepping back and brushing his hands together to clean them.

"I'll keep that in mind - both of those in mind." A grin. "Far be it from me to turn down a free drink."