open; Dry your smoke-stung eyes

[foxsays]

WHO: Araceli Bonaventura; open
WHAT: Post-Rivain catch-up, gifts for friends, general open in and around Skyhold things
WHEN: August (timey-wimey if needed)
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: High likelihood of Dairsmuid being discussed so annulments etc. Will update if/when needed. If you'd like a starter let me know but feel free to make your own!

Comments

closed; martel

[foxsays]

Araceli goes searching for Martel with a renewed swing to her hips; being by the sea has done her the world of good even if Dairsmuid still casts a long shadow at unexpected moments, clouds on days everyone swore would be clear. She takes the rooftops as is her way, slides down more carefully with two neatly wrapped bundles tucked beneath her arm, and if the smell of the sea still clings to her then so be it, she's spent months wasting away up in a mountain for her precious few weeks by the water under the sun.

"I return from Rivain all in one piece," she greets though news travels, and she was very much not herself the last time (only, she realised later) addressed everyone on the sending crystals. "You may rest again. And I've brought you something more than just my good self returning though that of course should be enough for anyone."

[apostasia]

Their (peculiar) friendship is such that when she arrives, swinging her hips and the full force of a personality that thinks she's much bigger than she is, Martel doesn't suppress the impulse that compels him to catch her by the elbow and duck down far enough to greet her by way of an avuncular kiss pressed to her temple. "It would have been enough for me," he assures her, charming monster that he is, releasing her and setting down the practise sword he'd been using to block out what will eventually be a lesson.

So it's probably as much 'trolling her with his sweatiness' as it is 'expressing his affection', but given the playful way of her in his company, that's all rather of a piece.

"What have you brought me, little terror?"

[foxsays]

Does Araceli have any friends that would be considered 'normal'? Probably not, that would be utterly dull and how would she ever know what's going on in the world if she didn't know as many people as possible all over the place? She attempts to dart free as she lets out a little shriek, flapping a hand at him with a wrinkled nose. Man sweat, the second most evil of all sweats since horses sweat too, a thing she didn't need to know or experience personally.

After the appropriate amount of sorting her hair, she rolls her eyes as far back as she can. "Enough - enough is not enough when it's me." But she's charmed by the nickname in a way she rarely is when older men that aren't her father's friends bestow names upon her as she fishes out a gift from both inside pockets of her coat. The whole lining is a maze of pockets that a person could probably get lost in if they weren't careful but it's the sort of thing you tend to need in her line of work, funny how often guards and the lawless tend to require the same sort of tools.

"A true blade is a personal thing, but a dagger can be just a decoration sometimes." People still forget that the pretty weapon is still a weapon, for all that it might be small and light, and glittering. It's not so opulent as to be something an Orlesian might like, darker gold and deep blue stones that reminded her of whales beneath the surface for the decoration with a curve to the blade to speak of the craftsmanship. Something almost shy overcomes her when she hands it over. "And this isn't from the library in Dairsmuid, I picked this up before, on Rivaini magical practices: their wise women and their Seers are still very much a part of daily life in Rivain, loved and respected."