faderift | open; Dry your smoke-stung eyes

Entry tags:

open; Dry your smoke-stung eyes

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!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Anders jerks forward for a moment as she falls, stopping as soon as it's clear she's fine. That had been intentional. He shrugs off his reaction, feeling a little sheepish.

"Falling. All right." He's done it before, though it hadn't gone well and hadn't exactly been planned well either. Then again, little about his actual escapes had been planned. Stepping forward, Anders rubs his hands together before carefully starting to make his way up.

"It's been a while since I've climbed." Fifteen years? Something like. He's feeling his age by the time he's at the top; young him could have done that so much more quickly. But now he's here. Up, not high, but higher than he's used to being, looking down at hay and questioning his choices tonight. He's here now, though. And his teacher said fall. Anders looks over at Araceli and reminds himself that as long as he doesn't fall unconscious, he can heal anything that happens. Probably. With that happy thought he's letting go and trying to stay loose... landing in the hay safely and feeling even more sheepish.

"Yes." He hasn't gotten out of the hay; he's still just lying there. "I would call this a little different."

Rivain was a different sort of Araceli's showmanship: playing whatever role she needed to by the docks, in the taverns, head down or fluttering her eyelashes, a careful blend of getting people to only look at her for so long. Skyhold isn't home but she feels comfortable enough to show off.

Nothing can be as disastrous as the combination of Gavin and Merrick, though as she tells herself that, it's not much of a comfort considering that it's Gavin and Merrick, and that one had almost hit the other after a horse had nearly brained one. Revising the lessons back to Falling 101 had been the outcome of that but Anders is older and all she finds herself having to do is click her tongue at Lux so he runs off a couple of onlookers. Most of the time it's not a problem but when it's Anders she's not going to draw a crowd unless they're friends of his.

"Blow all the breath in your body out, and don't think about it. Just let yourself go," she instructs helpfully with her most reassuring smile but everyone just has to do it, and she's there when he falls, crouching to make sure his eyes will still focus on her.

"See the very top of Skyhold?" And she'll helpfully point, yes, all the way up there. "That's as high as I can go here. There's higher at home but water is more forgiving for breaking falls, though none of my trips to Antiva or Rivain have truly allowed for that. But there's a good circuit you can take all the way around Skyhold to run; do you know how few people ever look up?"

"Other than myself?" He knows he's one of few who looks up often, but he's also one of few who feels the need to see the sky. Sometimes even these walls feel a little too close. Anders gazes at the top, wonders how precarious a perch up there made, and looks back at her.

"I hope you don't jump down from there into the hay. A wrong landing, and I'll be seeing you for a whole new reason." He likes seeing her, but no one likes to be injured or a patient. Slowly Anders gets up from the hay, stretching, deciding that he might be a little bruised come tomorrow but he's had far worse.

"But you're saying you can loop around and never be noticed." That has appeal. That has a lot of appeal, just for the thought of being able to walk around for a time and not get glares. While he's learned how to shut it out for the most part, sometimes a break is nice. "And you do it often?"

Laughing, she shakes her head and sets a hand on his arm. "I know that, I've been climbing higher buildings than this since I was twelve." Araceli you say that as if you are so old, you just turned twenty-one, there are people here that could comfortably call you a child to minimal protest. "I don't want my head to split like a ripe melon on the ground."

Not all children are good climbers. And guards….well guards don't care who they shoot at, and if you're shot, and you fall, and you don't hit the water? Not pretty.

"Every day. I get up early and go for a run before most of Skyhold is up, before the summer I would be up before the sun, usually when the watch changes. I take another full circuit just to make the circuit late at night before I go to bed. Unless I have to see someone on the ground, I'm not down there unless I have to be. I can get everywhere I need to be on the walls or the rooftops." It's another advantage actually, in that she tends to know the regular patrols if she really doesn't want to be bothered by them but unless someone new is alarmed by the strange girl popping up (a little scare is good for them) then they don't bother. "It takes time to be able to climb the walls, to be able to trust your body that much, to know what stones will and won't hold you since the battlements proper always have the soldiers or other people. Staring. Moodily. Off into the mountains. You're only meant to stare at the sea like that but then people here have never seen the sea so that's probably why they need to stare at mountains."

Twelve. He'd started on his adventures at thirteen, but he'll wager that was far longer ago than hers. Anders gives her a wry smile before looking back up. He's old. Sometimes he remembers this.

"It's been a long time since I climbed that well. I'd need to, in my teens. Not as recently. This will take work." Anders holds up a hand and flexes it, studying it. He's not too old, though. He can still learn things, and he can train this. "And I'll try not to stop and stare moodily into the distance too many times. It's such an entertaining habit, though, and hard to break."

Part of that is teasing. Part of it isn't. He finds himself staring more than he used to, feet dragging as his thoughts muddle their way through a maze that grows all the more complicated by the week. There's nothing in his head getting after him for getting distracted, anymore.

"What would you say is the easiest section to climb?" Maybe she won't make him fall dozens of times before they started anything more appealing. Maybe.

"Hard work is good for you," she says decisively. "You aren't entirely over the hill. Yet." Anyone over thirty is dreadfully old though; go ask Martel about how she tries to make him feel as old as possible to the point she's a little monster and a terror, called as such every time he claps eyes on her. This is one of her specialist skills in life.

"Oh, before I forget - never wear gloves. If anyone tries to get you to wear gloves then they want you dead. Gloves are a layer between you and the wall, you can't feel as well as you should, and if your hands start to sweat? Bad. Very bad. Your fingers are better without gloves, better to have rough hands and live than to be a soft-handed corpse." That's probably something Orlesians aspire to, the nobles at least, though she can't exactly go inspecting them though even the seamstresses had such delicate fingers compared to the ladies of home.

Considering the question seriously, she takes a good look round, then gives Anders a similar assessment before she peers back up at the wall. Quiet is better with Anders. Having a crowd won't do him good, not when he's learning, and she won't always be around to get rid of people. "Around the stables. The wall is lower, the brickwork has good holds. You can run up the kitchen steps and get up there, use the stables and they hayloft too, that section of the battlements is more shielded from view for practicing."

"Oh, not entirely." He takes no offense, clearly teasing with his sarcastic tone, before nodding at her no-glove advice. It's not like he has very soft hands anyway. Working a staff leaves callouses, and he's constantly working with his hands in the tents and sometimes in the gardens. He's no noble.

He looks in the direction of where she's talking, even if it's not viewable from this angle. The consideration is noticed, and seriously appreciated.

"Probably best if less people see the person who made it out of the Circle seven times climbing the wall of Skyhold. It could give the wrong impression." Granted, escape is sometimes still on his mind. Walls can feel a bit too wall-like, scrutiny can feel a bit too intent, but most of the time when that happens he goes back down to the Warden camp and finds company he trusts or wanders out into the woods for a time. "Thank you."

A beat. "...Fall again, or can we try something climbing?"

"Seven times?" A note of something a little like reproach slips out as she raises a brow; Araceli is a professional. A talented professional. A thief who has not once been caught by the guards beyond leading them on a merry song and dance, a few duels and such exciting exploits. Not a single night in a cell or with her wrists and ankles clapped in irons. Clearly, you were doing it very wrong Anders, small wonder you have come to a girl near half your age for advice.

"If you're comfortable falling, we can climb. Do you want to try running up the wall first or to start from a standing climb?" Helpfully, she demonstrates the first one, backing up enough to make a run for the wall with longer than normal strides for her, neither too slow or too fast. There's a small jump right as she reaches the wall, up on the balls of her feet to plant them at hip height before bending the knee on the wall and pushing off with the other leg. From there she brings her chest close to the wall, pushing off with the leg on the wall and then it's bringing up the other knee, reaching up as she goes until she stops to hang comfortably.

"It's more in the legs than the arms, you use that to help you get moving but you can do it from a standing start, there are plenty of good toeholds if you push up and find them."

"Seven times I got outside of a fortress meant to keep me in, to keep mages in, some of the times with my very own guards dedicated to keeping me in place. It's not my fault I got hauled back, either. They've got my blood in a device made to track me. All Circle mages have had a phylactery made, so that Templars can hunt them down. But I kept getting away."

His escapes are some of his greatest accomplishments. They're things he can genuinely be proud of, without regrets. Therefore he's a little defensive. Of that. Not so much defensive of his physical condition. Oh, he's rather fit. He has to be. But his agility is not on that level, and he wonders what the odds are of him missing the jump and faceplanting into a wall.

...He is getting old, isn't he.

"You're going to judge me. But I want to try it with a standing start the first time." And so saying, he approaches the wall and searches out his first toehold, reminding himself of what she just said - more legs than arms - before he does his first push up so he can grab at a handhold and try to find another toehold. It takes him a few moments in which he starts to get feel why one doesn't rely on their arms, and then his toe sinks in and he can put his weight there.

"Do you mentally map a wall before you try it?" Because that might have been a smart thing for him to do, he reflects, as he looks for a third toehold so he can push up further.

"And how far does a phylactery work for? Is there a point where it would stop working?" It's something that's come up in reading but when she's had to start from very much the beginning and work her way through everything? She can't dwell on everything, little notes scribbled down in places to find out more about from people but when it comes up it comes up. Bard training takes up the greatest chunk of her day then her nights she needs to be in the tavern to send a report back every third back every third night to the Nightingale.

"I won't judge you. I have to rank you to know how much work there is to be done," she explains patiently, pushing herself up again until she gets to the top where she flips up and over in an easy motion, leaning over to peer down at his progress. "I've been doing this long enough I know, which...is less than helpful but I go for a walk, run my hand along, lean against it sometimes, press it. See if there's any rock at the bottom, if anything is growing through it. I know my weight, I know how I move. This is why I teach falling first. Because you need to learn like that. It's the only way."

It's how she learned. Falling off into the waters below, clipping railings, statues, balconies or other hazards and breaking bones or hurting herself in other ways. Picking herself up and dusting herself off.

"If you walk the battlements up top you can get a good look at the sections ahead, so long as you're not staring out at the mountains."

"It works at any distance. The only way to make it stop working is to smash it, break the container. And yes, I'm outright saying that Templars use blood magic." His smile goes very, very wry. While he doesn't know how much any Rifter knows about Thedas politics, she's been around long enough that she's had to have heard talk against blood mages and blood magic. Just in case, though: "The sort of magic a mage would be killed right away for."

He slowly climbs as he speaks, settling into a rhythm that isn't exactly fast but it's not moss-growing-on-rocks slow. Handhold, foothold, push, repeat - it's starting to feel comfortable which means he should probably increase the speed. Or try to, which he does, and he nearly falls when he slips from a foothold. Only reflexes catch him, and he returns to the slower pace. Clearly there's no rushing this.

"You know, I thought my arms in rather good shape thanks to swinging my staff around. Now I'm not so certain." They're starting to get tired, and he's about 3/4ths of the way up. At least there isn't far to fall if he slips. "I may be stuck flopping them at people who need healing for the next day or two."

Nearly there. "Or flopping them at people as I walk the battlements. They probably won't notice, as they'll be absorbed by the seductive mountains. Maybe I should come up with sound effects to go with the flapping."

Blood magic hasn't escaped her notice, but then few things do when she's had as much reading to do as she has. Her opinions on it? She keeps to herself, like an awful lot of things, because it's less easy to be trapped by them that way when the situation with Mages and Templars can be so very volatile, and no one seems to know where they want to group rifters most days. "I am sure they come up with a justification, or they do for those they believe worth hearing it." Which wouldn't be mages. And probably not all Templars. Probably not all members of the Chantry. Possibly not even an awful lot of people still among the living. Her smile, what he'll be able to see from this angle, is knowing and bitter for other reasons; different worlds, the same little injustices and hurts that spread out across them.

That's what happens here. The world finds a groove, finds a rut, walks it deeper and deeper, keeps going with it and sometimes has a battle or a war over it to see if either side has won any sort of argument.

Sliding down the wall, she offers out a hand just in case, and advice too. That's not optional. "Legs. Push with your legs, and use your core." Every day is leg day Anders. You don't skip leg day. "There are other things you can do if you want to make your arms stronger, twirling some wood about, how does that help anyone?

"Breathing is important. The guards never notice me because I don't talk. And I don't get tired because I control my breathing, time things on inhales or exhales for a big push or jump up, force all the air out before a large drop so I won't be winded when I get to my feet." In this? Araceli is the expert. Even at twenty-one.

Her comment got a nod; of course the Templars could justify it. Though it wasn't like anyone ever called Templars or members of the Chantry to account. "No one's about to challenge the Templars on what they do or have done. They've a clean slate." And he's horribly jealous of that. Not like he deserves it, by any means, but it would be nice to see it extended both ways.

There are also other impossibilities it would be nice to see.

Anders focuses more on using his legs, noting her hand. He'll use it if he needs it, but he's hoping to not need it. "Swinging a solid piece of wood around for hours isn't negligible," he mutters. He won't be able to do the not-talking thing, but she's probably already figured that bit out.

"Exhales for a big push." It's repeated and then he tries it, exhaling as he pushes with his foot and finds a new hold, finally getting close to the top of this short wall. "I still don't think," another nudge up, almost there, "I'd be good at being sneaky. Not that I'm not willing to try."

One more push and he's at the top and dragging himself up, feeling a lot more in his arms than he probably should. It's difficult to trust his legs completely, but considering they're usually what takes his weight he needs to work on that.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

open; Dry your smoke-stung eyes

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject