faderift | Semi-Open

Herian can hardly argue with that, and smiles ruefully.

"I can hardly imagine." To fall into another world was unfathomable. "I've not returned to Starkhaven since I was a girl, but the possibility always remained. 'TWas a matter of distance and Circle law, rather than navigating the roads between worlds."

Herian is silent for a few moments, keeping her pace slow enough to match Cosima's, before glancing to her. "Selfishly I have no objection to your staying, though I cannot imagine such sentiment would be a great comfort." Home is, after all, home.

"It totally matters," Cosima says, quieter. "I came into the world not knowing anybody, you know? It's easier to think about how long I have to stay knowing there are people who care about me. Who I care about," an expansion, rather than a correction.

She tries not to think about her sisters, left without a scientist and unsure what happened to her. Maybe she goes back; maybe Delphine's from farther on, and didn't notice her gone at all.

"What was Starkhaven like? If you don't mind talking about it."

"I don't mind." It's nice, actually. Nobody really asks about Starkhaven. Not Kirkwall seems to be the extent of most people's understanding or interest. "Though I must admit I lived only ever in the alienage, and only when I was very young. I was taken to the Circle when I was... in my seventh year, I think." A collection of seconds pass where Herian is trying to organise her thoughts, before she starts.

"The alienage was cold. It seemed to either by very muddy or very dusty, rarely a moment of balance. So many things were brown or grey, but then we had wild flowers that seemed to grow out of sheer stubbornness. Thistles, forget-me-nots... they were so vibrant amidst all the other struggles." Her mouth quirks with a bit of a smile. "That, I think, summarises Starkhaven. Everything is done out of stubbornness or tradition. In the alienage we have a dialect that I've only ever heard fall from the tongues of those also raised there. The people there are spirited and resilient, even in the most downcast corners."

Perhaps she romanticises it a little - she would not be surprised. "I've not returned in some time. What of your home?"

Cosima smiles at Herian's reminiscence. "Sort of the opposite of that, really. It's a city on the ocean, and it's never really cold or really warm, at least by most people's standards. I didn't see snow until I was, god, maybe 11 or 12 and we went on a winter vacation? We'd get this intense, rolling fog, though. The city's really hilly, and it'd just be where you couldn't see your hand in front of your face, sometimes, at the bottom of the hills when it got foggy."

She considers, then added, "There's this big, gorgeous bridge. Really tall, and you could see the top of it, peeking out of the fog. Then it'd clear, and you could see the whole huge bay."

"No snow?" That seemed hard to fathom, and it almost makes her stop in her steps. "Skyhold must be more different than I'd imagined," Herian replies, and perhaps there is the faintest note of teasing in it.

"We had snow, and then we had an abundance of icy slush and muddy slurry. Delightful," she adds, with a bit of a smile. "Though your home sounds... beautiful, I think. I've never seen a great bay, truly, that I can think of. What is it called, your home city?"

Fog, that she knew. Fog could be a blessing or a curse.

"San Francisco," she says. "It's named after a saint - a holy man, from centuries ago."

Cosima adds, after a moment, "The country I'm from is really big, for what it's worth. There's plenty of snow other places, including the place I was right before here."

(Toronto is not technically her country, but she's counting it as a brief departure from Minnesota, not a permanent move. Internal semantics are important.)

"San Francisco." It feels a little awkward on her tongue, the awkward tilt of it not fitting with her native tongue. "It sounds close to Antivan," she says, after a moment of thought. "Strange, the things our worlds have in common, no?"

Her gaze drops as they walk, before she glances sidelong at Cosima. "Have you been to Antiva, yet? I don't believe it snows there, with any manner of frequency. Mayhaps it would... offer you some soothing for feelings of homesickness. Unless those feelings are exclusive to Thedas?"

Stop trolling, Herian.

"Uh, no, I think homesickness is just a 'person' thing," Cosima says, rueful for how she seldom talks about being so. (At least in so many words.) "And no, haven't been to Antiva. Haven't really been anywhere but Skyhold yet except my recent disaster field trip."

She really will stop pretending to be glib about this. Eventually.

"What's Antiva like, besides warm?"

Herian stops, then, and briefly catches Cosima's wrist in her grip - loose, and only lasting long enough to make her stop in her steps for a moment. "Do not make light of what happened to you." It sounds harsh, but she exhales and shuts her eyes for a second. Calmer. "Well do I understand that we each of us process such events in different ways. What happened to you, though, should not be dismissed so lightly. Such cruelty is horrifying. Your suffering is no matter to be rendered a joke."

For a moment - just a moment, she rubs her forehead before catching herself and schooling her hands back to her sides.

"Antiva is... home to people who are possessing a better humour than I, I've heard." Apologetic, sort of. "Colourful. Spirited, from what I've heard. Home of assassins and intrigues."

"Man, I suck at intrigues," she says, with a little smile, meant to put Herian back at ease. (And maybe to put herself back at ease a little.) "But I'd like to see it sometime."

They walk for a bit, then she says, "I didn't mean to... I just don't know what to do with it. You know? I mean, while I was healing from the physical effects, that's all I had to think about, and then my friend was blaming herself for everything that happened, and it's all just... I didn't mean to offend you."

A slow exhale, then.

"You committed no offence against me." Though there is a tension still pulling between her shoulders, turning them rigid. "What happened was horrific. I— cannot make light of mine own circumstances, but that is no reason to speak harshly against your own— coping." Her jaw clenches and loosens, visibly. "I spoke out of turn and unkindly. I am sorry. That you were hurt and that any would make light of it troubles me, but I... understand. We each of us come to terms in different ways."

Some people become overly rigid knights that have no chill, for example. Cosima's doing much better on that front. Gently, she catches Cosima's ribs with her elbow, conciliatory or teasing or both, maybe. "I've heard that Antivan dances are a grand affair. A lack of proficiency in intrigues might render you better able to enjoy those, and less time worrying about scandals."

The tease settles Cosima a bit, or at least convinces her she didn't completely sour things between them. "I'm hard to scandalize. Probably more likely I'd be the scandal, under the circumstances. I bet their dances aren't the ones I know, for one thing."

"Maker forbid." Truly, the most scandalised Herian has ever sounded. "I dread to think what the Duchess would say about that. "

Although, she does look to Cosima with a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Naturally I'll be forced to write letters to all mine acquaintances, to advise them of this outrage."

"Man, hold off until I show you my dance moves so you can be properly appalled," she says, as they approach her room. "We're very informal, where I'm from, it's a lot of gyrating." It feels like something safer to joke about.

At that, Herian actually laughs. A proper laugh, too, not just one of her amused exhales. "You've not seen any of the dances from Starkhaven. Meetings of elves and such were not kindly looked upon, so when they came to pass... everything became very wild very quickly. Young as I was, I am well aware how... suggestive and free dancing can be."

And her eyebrow quirks. "Should I advise the minstrel at the tavern that we will require something spirited to dance to?"

Cosima takes the laugh as a total win. She grins back, shameless, as she unlocks the door. "You could, but it's the slow stuff that really gets the rumors flying."

She's probably made enough noise, but says, "Coming in," out of habit anyway. She doubts either Ruby or Avery is home this time of day, but it still seems the thing to do.

"Not that so delicate and proper a lady as yourself would be acquainted with such things," she counters, too richly amused and teasing for her to play off as dry.

Respectful, despite her teasing, Herian stands just outside the doorway.

"That would not be sufficient warning."

Cosima shrugs, sheepish. "Avery's almost certainly working and Ruby's almost never home in the middle of the day." The fact she knows this is, unfortunately, because she still has bad health days, but she certainly isn't going to spoil the move by observing as much.

"Besides, if privacy was really necessary, we'd talk about it first or put a ribbon on the door or something. Not," she adds, "that a proper lady is acquainted with the reasons for that."

"Come in if you like, I won't be a sec."

"We weren't proper ladies in the tower," Herian admits, stepping into the room. "Dalliances were strictly forbidden, but it served to encourage quiet and haste, rather than instill propriety." A little shake of her head, distantly amused by a memory. "Bed and ribbons on doors are unimaginable luxuries."

Not flippant, not near, but she is certainly speaking more freely than she might have some weeks ago, and she almost looks surprised at herself.

"Apologies. That was... not the most appropriate element of Circle life to share."

"Jesus, Herian, I promise I'm not that easily scandalized. Though you have my sympathies for the lack of privacy. The dorms at school were mainly a matter of staying on good enough terms with your roommate to work something out and not pissing off the RA - the person in charge of enforcing rules." She considers, and tucks the book in with her notes and the bag of elfroot next to a small jar of tonic on the shelf that was informally 'Cosima's things.'

"I lucked out my second year, because my roommate was literally always at her boyfriend's place, it was like I had a single."

"I did not imagine you so delicate," she assures, gaze idly sweeping over the shelf. "Though neither did I assume you eager to dwell upon thoughts of feverish trysts in libraries."

That was perhaps said a shade dramatically, with a side of playfulness. "I do not recommend engaging someone donning armour in a rush. There is an excess of buckles to consider."

And she laughs, quietly. "I would not have done well in such a political climate. Councilor LeBlanc endured a less than flattering excess of poor behaviour from me."

"I think I wrote a few racy stories as a teenager focused on feverish trysts in libraries," Cosima says, speculative. "Though I'm pretty sure none of them involved armor."

So... now they both know things about each other, don't they.

"People are people, though, I think. You'll always get a few assholes, but most people are too wrapped up in their own shit to give you much thought one way or another unless they have a particular reason."

"And here stood I, aware I was graced with the presence of a literary mind." A little bow - knightly poise turned to teasing. Though, she pauses as she looks up.

"Is that what you make of me?" She is not, to her own surprise, offended. More thoughtful, turning things over. "Wrapped up within mine own mind enough to isolate myself?"

It did not seem ill-fitting. "I've been noted as having a more than unusually cold manner, in times past."

"I definitely didn't mean you specifically," Cosima says, immediately. "I just meant... people. Generally. I think we have to work at not making everything about us because the consistent thread of our own experience is that we're always present in it, you know?"

Edited (most awkward mis-iconing) 2016-11-12 14:22 (UTC)

Herian is silent a few moments as she mulls that over. "True enough." And then, the faintest hint of a smile. "Fortunately, I have the assurance that I am always in the right to vindicate my actions."

It's a very quiet, very wry self-mockery. "One could suppose there are those that allow themselves to become so conscious of their bias that they are incapacitated. I don't imagine that is so common a problem as the opposite extreme."

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I'm so sad I don't have a equivalent icon to mis-match with

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