open | Les colchiques

[petitchiot]

WHO: Delphine Cormier, and you?
WHAT: Hilariously irritated Delphine tries to keep her mind off of smoking.
WHEN: Begininng of Harvestmere.
WHERE: All around skyhold.
NOTES: mentions of nicotine withdrawal? will update if anything comes up. If you want something specific feel free to hit me up on my plurk or send me a private message!

Library

She's grown accustomed to the library, she knew which books to look for, the places and the arrangement. But she's kept to herself most of the time, avoiding interaction with people. Small talk could be useful, if she knew what she could gain from the other person. But more often than not, she didn't know enough about the people surrounding her to bother with getting closer. She's heard gossip about the natives, some about the rifters, usually nothing interesting. But sometimes she picks up on bits of conversation that peak her interest enough for her to interrupt, if necessary, or just bring herself closer.

But today was different, she wasn't here to soak up the surroundings or jam as much information from the books into her mind as she could. She needed a distraction. So maybe small talk was just right, seeing as the books she usually picked up only frustrated her even more. She's managed to go through the packet of cigarettes she came with, and she knew that the withdrawal was going to be ugly. As a scientist and doctor, she knew full well what the symptoms were, she was mentally checking off every symptom that crept it's way into her behavior. But her logical mind couldn't stop them from happening, as much as she wished it could.

After practically slamming a book shut and letting out a heavy sigh, she turned to look at the people around her. Taking the faces and general aura. Her hands brushed away her, now very curly, hair away from her face, trying to calm her nerves. Whoever the person closest to her was, will be getting a polite smile and a small "hello," her french accent very obvious, even in that single word.

Training yard

On her trip to find the right thing to distract herself, she's stumbled upon the training yard. She wasn't a fighter, her posture was horrid and her grip weak. What she lacked in skill she made up in sheer frustration. She was slashing at the poor dummy like her life depended on it. She's gathered enough money to get herself a dagger, but, sadly, she wasn't very skilled in wielding it. It almost looked like she holding a scalpel, something meant to heal, instead of a weapon. But in a real fight, she could possibly attack important arteries, she knew what would be lethal, but she lacked the physical capabilities to actually help her do that.

Feel free to approach her, maybe give her a few tips, or stay away from the obviously irritated blonde.

Healing tents

She wasn't considered a healer by Thedas's terms, she didn't have the knowledge about the herbs and potions nor the magical abilities. But she tried to stay close, shadowing the healers doing their work. She would like to take notes, maybe even record some of the procedures done, but she didn't have the means to do either. Whenever they were short handed, and needed very simple help, on the other hand, she would offer to help. Although some of the people came in would get confused or suspicious by her strange medical jargon, so she's been doing her best to take it down. It felt good to be in this position again, to care for patients and away from board meetings and manipulative higher-ups.

Sometimes, if the problem was simple enough, she would take the matter into her own hands. If it was a wound that needed to be pressed until someone came with their magic or strange concoctions to help, or just a simple check up.

Comments

[petitchiot]

Now that wasn't a face she knew. She's spent enough time here to get to know the healers and even some of the regular patients. The ones that would always somehow get themselves hurt. She briefly watched the woman, silently. She knew what she was doing from the looks of it, knew which herbs she wanted, but it was still peculiar. She gave her space, taking a step back and observing her. Delphine rarely interrupted people. Be it they were healers doing their job or patients at rest, but this was too different, and she's heard enough stories to be wary of different. You never know.

So just in case, she thought it would be better to at least know what she was doing. "Are you looking for something?" Her voice was calm, but stern enough to show that she was serious. She knew the answer, it was obvious she was looking for something, but outright telling a person to explain themselves would be rude.

[elegiaque]

"Obviously."

--is the most polite and helpful answer to that question, clearly, delivered without actually looking up from what she's doing. "If you want to ask something less easily answered by opening your eyes, please feel free."

Or don't, her tone heavily implies, but - for all the sharpness of the words, there's something automatic about it, lacking in a certain heat. More rote than personal, and brittle like spun glass that might soon shatter. Her hand closes around the pestle a little firmer than it needs to, white-knuckled, so as not to tremble.

[petitchiot]

Now as much as she would rather pull away from the women, she had to keep an eye on her, at least to make sure she got what she needed. She doesn't respond, instead choosing to lay low and observe her again. She noticed the strong grip, and that could indicate so many things, but most importantly, that she needed assistance.

"Let me help you," her hand didn't go straight to pulling away the pestle, instead it was open palmed near her. But the gesture was stern, so was the look she gave her. It contrasted her overly polite way of speech.