"Sam made it for me," she says, drawing her fingers across the hilt on her belt and knowing who to question first if the spirit blade ends up missing. She's learning that it's not necessarily a good thing when Yngvi takes interest in something.
Her eyes follow the piece until it disappears into his pocket and she has to admit, he has good aim. If she mentioned it, he'd probably launch into a tale about Kirkwall and how he saved the day with his well timed aim, but he continues on and she suddenly smiles because, oh yes, she did ask him to collect information, didn't she?
"Do I need to be concerned?" Yngvi replies on the double because look he's seeing a very distinct pattern here. Sam is a dog. Barely because dogs shouldn't be more fluff than dog parts but he is, indeed, a dog, as Yngvi can attest from up close and personal things. And Christine has a dog. And she was around Asher plenty. And Asher was always around Bronson. Asher had a bit of doglord in him. More doglord than Avvar but the Avvar bit won the day same as how the Carta wins through before anything else in Yngvi.
Yngvi notices. S'how he ain't dead yet.
Anyway, best to get the obvious out of the way. "Bunch of them got right offended, like I said I'd shagged their mother and their father, some people honestly." Why are you like this, he hears in the familiar fond exasperation of Melisende's Halamshiral tones. "But depended on the state of the dog, the state of themselves. Orlesians were more likely to eat dog. People seemed to think I'd get m'self killed." D'you hear the 'as if', Christine?
He definitely needs to be concerned, though Christine would deny she was turning into a dog person until she was blue in the face. It's just not Orlesian! And yet slowly but surely these dog-lords have been stealthily making their way into her life and her heart. And now she has a little rat dog to curl up under the bear slanket with her and keep her warm. How did it come to this?
"Concerned about Sam? Why?" Sam is one of the best people she knows, despite the unfortunate location of his birth. But no matter. Yngvi's reasoning can't be very good, right?
"Ah, yes. Naturally if you offend a Fereldan's dog, death is the only possible retribution." She rolls her eyes, because honestly, Fereldans are just mad at times. "But the state of the dog, you say? I thought they would burn their deceased dog on Andraste's pyre while women wailed."
You could have an Yngvi. He comes with bear traps and several nugs, is that better or worse than a dog? But maybe you'd need to be good with how he'd combat roll at the thought of people getting too close to Gwenaelle or Lex because he just has an eighth sense for that. (Sixth is for Carta, seventh is for Boneflayers, if you were wondering at all. Bet you were. When Yngvi ever says that it makes noses twitch.)
"Literally a dog. And a dog lord." It takes him a minute to shuffle his features appropriately into the correct sort of raised brows, 'oh child' type of smile best suited to someone with the visage of a grizzled old prune rather than his youthful complexion but he manages, that he does. "You're in danger, because Sam isn't honest as certain other sorts are and tries to be all bashful 'bout things. Watch yourself. Also he's fluffy and I have seen girls, like, a certain sort of girl and it's watching the patisserie windows on a hot midsummer's day, you get all melty and gooey around a fluffy thing so it might be the trade-off of stinky dirty dog with oh look how fluffy that dog is. I repeat: you're in danger."
Rolling his eyes, he slides down to take a seat because packing is tiring, he doesn't want to pack, he only likes packing when he's in charge of inventory for everyone and he gets to go through their personal bits. "Well that'll be the next thing I ask: funeral dirges for the dogs, and no Andraste's Mabari. Did you know that Asher give Melisende ears to make a necklace every single time we went to a tavern and people heard that, she hated it so much? But, that's really wasteful, they like to think that Orlesians are the wasteful ones. I think people would rather eat you though. Not personally. I am true to my word, not even a breath of your name was mentioned."
That depends if Yngvi could stay quiet for an entire night to allow her to sleep, She wouldn't bet on it. The dog is surprisingly warm for such a little thing, and he doesn't keep her awake with any nonsense.
What Yngvi says with such conviction is enough to make her laugh aloud, settling a hand on her hip, "In danger of considering the dog-lord my brother? I am afraid that has already come to pass. And as far as not being honest, there is nothing he can hide from me. I always squeeze his thoughts from him like a sponge." Really, Sam sets himself up for it. He may blush, but she needles at him until she hears all.
"Orlesians are wasteful, but Fereldans certainly cannot claim superiority over us there. Your survey has proven that much." Her head dips a fraction. "I thank you for your professionalism." Yes, she just manages a straight face saying that.
What is life without being woken in the small hours with incessant questions or 'shove over I know how to fix that trap now can I write it on you I don't have parchment'? That's not a life worth living Christine.
"So it's like that then? Asher, Asher, Asher, you filthy beggar." How proud he sounds because that is a hell of an accomplishment, now that he's put the pieces together a bit better. Well the next letter back to everyone is going to be more gossipy than usual but Gunnar grew up same as him, he thrives on some scandal. They all do honestly because anyone who thinks that mercenaries aren't gossipy hens are complete and utter idiots, it's how business gets done. "Well then, I know who to come to when I need him for something that he doesn't want to help with when I think he still owes me after I let him jump all over me. I mean have you seen him as a dog? When there's me. There's a distinct size difference, I'd say."
Orlesians are wasteful. Wow. He wants a tattoo of that somewhere, maybe close to where the line of Ilde Sauvageon's poem happens to be, right on the chest. "So, what d'you have to say 'bout us from the Free Marches then?" But first give him a moment to get up and dramatically swoon dead at her feet. "Such praise, madame, I can't go on!"
She isn't sure what Asher has to do with it, but she shrugs a shoulder anyway because she won't pass up on an opportunity to tease Sam and try to get him to do as she pleases. It's a hobby.
"Oh yes; I have seen Sam sit on someone as a dog, after knocking the person to the ground." To be fair, Church deserved it for teasing Sam in the first place. Christine is allowed, but anyone else apparently gets sat on.
She nearly snorts at Yngvi's display, but blocks it with the back of her hand pressed under her nose. What a ridiculous person.
"The Free Marches? Well, I should think it is rather boring over there, beyond Kirkwall, of course. That city draws far too much attention." And all of it bad, though she doesn't say that aloud.
Guess who had the tent next to Asher, go on guess. Certainly a lot of talk about sausage and people rolling around in bear pelts at all hours when he was trying to discuss with his brother the finer points of fleecing Kestrels, which is a tricky business he'll have you know.
"Don't know what it was he did to me. Bodyblows. Just raining bodyblows. Still hacking up hair and it's been months now, don't know if I'll ever recover. I'm sending him my healer's bills." As if Yngvi would go to a healer when Gunnar has sent him various concoctions because they didn't grow up around healer's, they don't need anything fancy unless it gets to the 'so you're dying and want to go out as slow as possible' stage. Which okay, some people just want to be dramatic or something he guesses.
A wink for her though, because it's a good day if he gets a reaction out of a pretty face. Anyway, back to the matter at hand as he props himself up. "Y'know there's a place where they drink more than probably Val Royeaux? Or is it more than anywhere else except Val Royeaux? And we don't have one person with a fat arse lording it over us. Or ladying it? Empressing it? You're Orlesian, what's the correct term for what she does?" Don't say ruling, that's boring.
Oh, Christine is very tempted to say the term is called "ruining things," which is something she never would have thought a year ago. She supported Celene because Gaspard was nothing but a warmonger who wanted to invade Ferelden again and Celene could keep things peaceful. At least that was what she'd thought. Having her father recruited into the civil war to fight (and die) for his Empress has left Christine a mix of emotions concerning Orlais. She's proud to be Orlesian, but she also knows she's hardly tolerated among them for being a mage. On those days when she thinks of all those missed moments with her father, her opinion of Orlais is "burn it to the ground," but other days she remembers the little town she grew up in and the simple, maskless people there. They shouldn't suffer just because the people at the top are assholes.
"Who knows anymore?" she finally settles for. "Holding the Empire together with twine and a prayer?" She lifts a shoulder in a shrug. "I wonder what place drinks more than anywhere but Val Royeaux. I think it is supposed to flow out of fountains there."
Say it. Say it and he's yours because burn it. Burn it all and piss on the fucking ashes, that's what you do with that whole thing, and if there's one thing he would probably get behind it's doing that to Orzammar but well, dwarves are generally fucking stupid when they're down below because the Carta is best when it's topside. (He is the prime example of that of course, well him and Gunnar because he loves his brother, yeah?)
"There's a saying about pissing into the wind that probably works. And I think it's Wycome. You can get shirts there with embroidered things on them like 'tits out for Wycome' if you know the right folk, of course I do, I'm related to them by marriage, three divorces, a murder, catering for a funeral and so on and so forth. Has more parties than Val Royeaux too. But if you're a fishing town you probably want to be drunk to deal with the smell." Name him foreign affairs correspondent Inquisition, do it.
"Wycome," she repeats, and she can't tell if he's being serious or just spinning a tale for the attention. Yngvi seems like the type to only be happy when he has all eyes on him yet is playing a game with everyone.
"I do not doubt that you know at least one person everywhere, in every town and village."
"Delivered men in casks to Wycome. Delicacy for a white glove society. You keep that under your hat. Or wherever Orlesian ladies keep things." Two truths and a lie: Wycome likes their tipples, he has delivered men in casks to Wycome. That was a weird sort of job but casks can hide a multitude of sins as it so happens, and their employer wanted proof of a job done. How else do you preserve unsavoury sorts he asks?
(Does not ask, does not repeat outside of being drunk himself.)
"Benefits and curses of large families, Asher Hardie getting about, Coterie ties from Liadan, and our-second-turned-boss happening to hail from Halamshiral, in no particular order."
"Orlesian ladies keep that a mystery," she retorts, now absolutely sure that he must be making up a story for fun. Or perhaps because it's what spills naturally from his lips.
At the mention of the Boneflayers, Christine gives a slight smile, a genuine warmth to her eyes. "How are they all doing? It seems I only ever see you about up here."
"You know, I was in m'lady's bou-- however you lot say bedroom because balls of my swindling casteless ancestors you can't just say bedroom like the rest of us filthy beggars - and I couldn't figure that out. Even when I was trying on her dresses." By the way that bit did happen, he looks great in mauve, brings out the sheer panic in his face when an irate father is going to murder the shit out of him.
Still, from one fond subject to another it is. "Melisende's got to establish herself since it's not so easy even with our reputation and when she was running so much of it anyway because she's an elf, and she's an elf from Halamshiral at a time like this when we get loads of jobs out of Orlais. People are dicks. Liadan's her second now but they ran all the money stuff anyway because Asher was always shite with that. It's same as it was, just without a big lad and a dog, takes more work to say we can still do the same things but different to how we did them before. S'why I'm here to get any jobs I hear about up here and to honour that bit, and to keep an eye on folks I said I would." Because Yngvi is a shit but he's a dwarf of his word about most things when it comes to people. "Amalia still sets things on fire, Nasir won't set foot in Rivain because he's a baby, my brother is sending me potions and other fun things. Aura might join us for a bit one day but she's not mental."
She knows, Yngvi. All of Skyhold heard that crystal conversation.
But his answer now regarding the Boneflayers is straightforward enough for once, and there's a brief cloud across her eyes before it passes and she quietly responds, "He asked you to check on his friends, because he no longer could." Some many months on, that ridiculous man shouldn't be making her throat feel tight, but it does despite her wishes on the matter. She clears her throat and nods, trying to push away the ache in her chest.
He was drunk. And Gwen's dad has a hell of a pair of fists on him. Rattled his bells that did.
The best and worst thing about Asher: he gave a shit. Because he gave a shit about Yngvi so Yngvi thinks more than a Carta boy ever should and doesn't really know what to do with all the things he was told not to do with. So he'll just shove those away just now but at least he's not the only one still hurting and stumbling along maybe. "He had an inflated sense of who needed looking after when he was the one that had hobbies including 'I'm going to go fight this bear, watch my pint'." But the joke dies in his throat, the smile too tight.
Tears don't happen though, he's been taught far too well from before he can remember so it'd take far more than that to get them to pop up for anything other than an act.
"Thriving. Away from harridan Hardie at last, swinging axes at trees because that's how you do, chasing her nephew around. I'll be seeing her when I go up there for the winter since she invited us all and she did write to m'lady after some dream she had? She's proper into spiritis. Not as a mage thing since-- not a mage? Some other thing. Said Gjurd could explain but I'll probably be buggered if I can figure it out."
Christine's smile settles into something more fond, though she wishes she had talked more with Aura while she was visiting the hold. More than just a passing nod and a how are you? Something tells her that she'd like Aura very much, even if she's not half as wild as Asher was.
"Dreaming of spirits usually is a mage thing," she begins, sounding intrigued. "But living in the hold with the spirits so close by and watching might make some difference. If Gjurd is helping her, everything will be all right." Just in case Yngvi is worried.
Babysitting a tiny Asher, even if it's only half Asher is tiring. It shares the same aversion to clothing as the father only at the moment it's from the waist down rather than the waist up so apparently it's something of a sight to behold.
Yngvi gets some great letters from the hold.
"Do warriors do stuff though? I know about reavers obviously, and Templars," he makes the univesal symbol for wanking when he says that with a roll of the eyes, "and champions," again with the wanking, "but can they? I mean Knight-Enchanters fart out a spirit through a sword or some shit, Korrin tried, I got bored and that sounds more interesting in battle."
"I suppose so," she says, trying to think what specialization would have a warrior dream of spirits. But alas, she is a sheltered Circle mage and doesn't know what this could be. "Anything is possible. But as I said, Gjurd will help her. And Knight-Enchanters are mages, so that is a bit different."
She doesn't want to rush to show him her blade, since she doubts he'll find it more interesting than Korrin's attempt, but she does want to get back to practicing and so she takes her hilt from her belt.
"I am only practicing now, and it must not look like much. But in battle it will save my life."
"Aura's written to m'lady, I can get her to write to someone that's a friend of Asher's that came up for him and knows spirit stuff, or the most eligible shaman in the holds." He's simply stating a fact. He does indeed have eyes. Do you know he's been lifted and thrown by those arms and that chest? Jealous? (Don't be, he got tossed into goat pens but some people are into that, he wouldn't judge, he'd just ask to be paid to enable it.)
Squinting at it with the eye someone uses to appraise things, he nods approvingly. Because here's the thing: he can say shit to and about Korrin since he's know Korrin for-fucking-ever, and Korrin's known him just the same. He was one of Asher's mad dwarves, and they know mercenary life, the lack of niceties. Christine is a Nice Girl. So Asher said.
"Pretty thing. Did you make it? Only you don't have a crafter's hands since you're not missing chunks of them." He holds his out for inspection, with the bloody bit from the trap, the broken nails, the old cuts and scrapes, the odd scars to them. Dirty rough working hands, square enough to only belong to a dwarf. "And that...the blade just--" A 'pchoo' sound comes out because look he hasn't seen the spirit blade do the thing, what does he know?
Just what are you implying, Ygnvi? Christine glances away for a second -- a rather telling move -- and then looks back. She'll simply choose not to say anything at all on that subject.
"Sam made the hilt," she says, eyebrows furrowing as she looks at the state of his hands. It's not an uncommon sight around here to see craftsmen with such scrapes and scars. "Do you need me to look at that?" she asks, nodding towards the currently injured one. She'll get to the blade of the weapon in a minute, after she's sure he doesn't have an infection.
That you want his Avvar babies because he didn't congeal in the gutter yesterday Christine. "I'll be sure to pass him your best then," he says very diplomatically, which in no way implies that he's going to be tossed in with the goats when he does just that.
(Spoiler: he got tossed in with the goats when he did just that Christine.)
"Sometimes I can't believe he does stuff like that when he's such an odd thing. Bit doglord, bit dog, bit fish, bit smith. What a mysterious creature. Course, many of my old gaffers had a term for such folk, don't know if you've got it round these parts but it's meant with fondness." It's not. But Yngvi would mean it that way because it's Yngvi and he's a shit like that because he also happens to be that same sort of person. "Need you to look at what?"
Let him buffer--
Buffering--
Connecting---
"What? That? Nah, spat on it, rubbed some dirt on it, I'll be grand."
Yngvi's "best" probably involves a lot of winking and salacious smirks, doesn't it?
She does want to ask what that fond term is for someone like Sam, though she will probably roll her eyes and laugh at it, whatever it is. But her eyes widen at Yngvi's brush off.
"Yngvi! You don't want it filling with pus or rotting away, do you? You could lose your hand. It is nearly impossible to stop the spread of infection once it starts." Like with Asher, though she knows not to say it aloud.
It's all in the hips. Pelvic thrusting his way over the Frostbacks right to Gjurd.
Rolling his eyes, he still gives her a pat with the good hand, or makes to because y'know he's filthy and she's proper. Well, she wasn't a proper Orlesian because Asher liked her but he's not Asher either but she doesn't have to suffer him if she'd rather not. Still. It's appreciated. "I've had so much worse, see this one here-" offering out the hand he points to a scar taking up a chunk of the middle finger of the other hand. "Nearly had that bitten clean off once by a lass - merchant's guild daughters, more trouble than they're worth you best believe - so Gunnar stitched up with thread we nicked off her."
Suffer is a good word for it, but Christine -- for some strange reason -- never walks away. Perhaps it's because something about him entertains her, and laughter is something she needs more of in her life.
"A woman nearly bit it off? Did she file her teeth?" Because how else could blunt teeth cut through bone? Did she have an iron jaw? Actually, Christine isn't sure she wants to know.
Releasing a soft breath of frustration through her nose, Christine finally relents and says, "Please, just watch it for any abnormalities. If you have lasting pain, there may be something wrong inside and I will want to take a look." She can't let anything happen to one of Asher's own after she failed Asher himself. She just can't.
Now she looks down at the hilt of her spirit blade. "I should return to my training."
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Her eyes follow the piece until it disappears into his pocket and she has to admit, he has good aim. If she mentioned it, he'd probably launch into a tale about Kirkwall and how he saved the day with his well timed aim, but he continues on and she suddenly smiles because, oh yes, she did ask him to collect information, didn't she?
"Well let's hear your report, then."
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Yngvi notices. S'how he ain't dead yet.
Anyway, best to get the obvious out of the way. "Bunch of them got right offended, like I said I'd shagged their mother and their father, some people honestly." Why are you like this, he hears in the familiar fond exasperation of Melisende's Halamshiral tones. "But depended on the state of the dog, the state of themselves. Orlesians were more likely to eat dog. People seemed to think I'd get m'self killed." D'you hear the 'as if', Christine?
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"Concerned about Sam? Why?" Sam is one of the best people she knows, despite the unfortunate location of his birth. But no matter. Yngvi's reasoning can't be very good, right?
"Ah, yes. Naturally if you offend a Fereldan's dog, death is the only possible retribution." She rolls her eyes, because honestly, Fereldans are just mad at times. "But the state of the dog, you say? I thought they would burn their deceased dog on Andraste's pyre while women wailed."
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"Literally a dog. And a dog lord." It takes him a minute to shuffle his features appropriately into the correct sort of raised brows, 'oh child' type of smile best suited to someone with the visage of a grizzled old prune rather than his youthful complexion but he manages, that he does. "You're in danger, because Sam isn't honest as certain other sorts are and tries to be all bashful 'bout things. Watch yourself. Also he's fluffy and I have seen girls, like, a certain sort of girl and it's watching the patisserie windows on a hot midsummer's day, you get all melty and gooey around a fluffy thing so it might be the trade-off of stinky dirty dog with oh look how fluffy that dog is. I repeat: you're in danger."
Rolling his eyes, he slides down to take a seat because packing is tiring, he doesn't want to pack, he only likes packing when he's in charge of inventory for everyone and he gets to go through their personal bits. "Well that'll be the next thing I ask: funeral dirges for the dogs, and no Andraste's Mabari. Did you know that Asher give Melisende ears to make a necklace every single time we went to a tavern and people heard that, she hated it so much? But, that's really wasteful, they like to think that Orlesians are the wasteful ones. I think people would rather eat you though. Not personally. I am true to my word, not even a breath of your name was mentioned."
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What Yngvi says with such conviction is enough to make her laugh aloud, settling a hand on her hip, "In danger of considering the dog-lord my brother? I am afraid that has already come to pass. And as far as not being honest, there is nothing he can hide from me. I always squeeze his thoughts from him like a sponge." Really, Sam sets himself up for it. He may blush, but she needles at him until she hears all.
"Orlesians are wasteful, but Fereldans certainly cannot claim superiority over us there. Your survey has proven that much." Her head dips a fraction. "I thank you for your professionalism." Yes, she just manages a straight face saying that.
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"So it's like that then? Asher, Asher, Asher, you filthy beggar." How proud he sounds because that is a hell of an accomplishment, now that he's put the pieces together a bit better. Well the next letter back to everyone is going to be more gossipy than usual but Gunnar grew up same as him, he thrives on some scandal. They all do honestly because anyone who thinks that mercenaries aren't gossipy hens are complete and utter idiots, it's how business gets done. "Well then, I know who to come to when I need him for something that he doesn't want to help with when I think he still owes me after I let him jump all over me. I mean have you seen him as a dog? When there's me. There's a distinct size difference, I'd say."
Orlesians are wasteful. Wow. He wants a tattoo of that somewhere, maybe close to where the line of Ilde Sauvageon's poem happens to be, right on the chest. "So, what d'you have to say 'bout us from the Free Marches then?" But first give him a moment to get up and dramatically swoon dead at her feet. "Such praise, madame, I can't go on!"
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"Oh yes; I have seen Sam sit on someone as a dog, after knocking the person to the ground." To be fair, Church deserved it for teasing Sam in the first place. Christine is allowed, but anyone else apparently gets sat on.
She nearly snorts at Yngvi's display, but blocks it with the back of her hand pressed under her nose. What a ridiculous person.
"The Free Marches? Well, I should think it is rather boring over there, beyond Kirkwall, of course. That city draws far too much attention." And all of it bad, though she doesn't say that aloud.
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"Don't know what it was he did to me. Bodyblows. Just raining bodyblows. Still hacking up hair and it's been months now, don't know if I'll ever recover. I'm sending him my healer's bills." As if Yngvi would go to a healer when Gunnar has sent him various concoctions because they didn't grow up around healer's, they don't need anything fancy unless it gets to the 'so you're dying and want to go out as slow as possible' stage. Which okay, some people just want to be dramatic or something he guesses.
A wink for her though, because it's a good day if he gets a reaction out of a pretty face. Anyway, back to the matter at hand as he props himself up. "Y'know there's a place where they drink more than probably Val Royeaux? Or is it more than anywhere else except Val Royeaux? And we don't have one person with a fat arse lording it over us. Or ladying it? Empressing it? You're Orlesian, what's the correct term for what she does?" Don't say ruling, that's boring.
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"Who knows anymore?" she finally settles for. "Holding the Empire together with twine and a prayer?" She lifts a shoulder in a shrug. "I wonder what place drinks more than anywhere but Val Royeaux. I think it is supposed to flow out of fountains there."
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"There's a saying about pissing into the wind that probably works. And I think it's Wycome. You can get shirts there with embroidered things on them like 'tits out for Wycome' if you know the right folk, of course I do, I'm related to them by marriage, three divorces, a murder, catering for a funeral and so on and so forth. Has more parties than Val Royeaux too. But if you're a fishing town you probably want to be drunk to deal with the smell." Name him foreign affairs correspondent Inquisition, do it.
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"I do not doubt that you know at least one person everywhere, in every town and village."
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(Does not ask, does not repeat outside of being drunk himself.)
"Benefits and curses of large families, Asher Hardie getting about, Coterie ties from Liadan, and our-second-turned-boss happening to hail from Halamshiral, in no particular order."
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At the mention of the Boneflayers, Christine gives a slight smile, a genuine warmth to her eyes. "How are they all doing? It seems I only ever see you about up here."
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Still, from one fond subject to another it is. "Melisende's got to establish herself since it's not so easy even with our reputation and when she was running so much of it anyway because she's an elf, and she's an elf from Halamshiral at a time like this when we get loads of jobs out of Orlais. People are dicks. Liadan's her second now but they ran all the money stuff anyway because Asher was always shite with that. It's same as it was, just without a big lad and a dog, takes more work to say we can still do the same things but different to how we did them before. S'why I'm here to get any jobs I hear about up here and to honour that bit, and to keep an eye on folks I said I would." Because Yngvi is a shit but he's a dwarf of his word about most things when it comes to people. "Amalia still sets things on fire, Nasir won't set foot in Rivain because he's a baby, my brother is sending me potions and other fun things. Aura might join us for a bit one day but she's not mental."
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But his answer now regarding the Boneflayers is straightforward enough for once, and there's a brief cloud across her eyes before it passes and she quietly responds, "He asked you to check on his friends, because he no longer could." Some many months on, that ridiculous man shouldn't be making her throat feel tight, but it does despite her wishes on the matter. She clears her throat and nods, trying to push away the ache in her chest.
"And Aura is enjoying life in the hold?"
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The best and worst thing about Asher: he gave a shit. Because he gave a shit about Yngvi so Yngvi thinks more than a Carta boy ever should and doesn't really know what to do with all the things he was told not to do with. So he'll just shove those away just now but at least he's not the only one still hurting and stumbling along maybe. "He had an inflated sense of who needed looking after when he was the one that had hobbies including 'I'm going to go fight this bear, watch my pint'." But the joke dies in his throat, the smile too tight.
Tears don't happen though, he's been taught far too well from before he can remember so it'd take far more than that to get them to pop up for anything other than an act.
"Thriving. Away from harridan Hardie at last, swinging axes at trees because that's how you do, chasing her nephew around. I'll be seeing her when I go up there for the winter since she invited us all and she did write to m'lady after some dream she had? She's proper into spiritis. Not as a mage thing since-- not a mage? Some other thing. Said Gjurd could explain but I'll probably be buggered if I can figure it out."
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"Dreaming of spirits usually is a mage thing," she begins, sounding intrigued. "But living in the hold with the spirits so close by and watching might make some difference. If Gjurd is helping her, everything will be all right." Just in case Yngvi is worried.
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Yngvi gets some great letters from the hold.
"Do warriors do stuff though? I know about reavers obviously, and Templars," he makes the univesal symbol for wanking when he says that with a roll of the eyes, "and champions," again with the wanking, "but can they? I mean Knight-Enchanters fart out a spirit through a sword or some shit, Korrin tried, I got bored and that sounds more interesting in battle."
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She doesn't want to rush to show him her blade, since she doubts he'll find it more interesting than Korrin's attempt, but she does want to get back to practicing and so she takes her hilt from her belt.
"I am only practicing now, and it must not look like much. But in battle it will save my life."
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Squinting at it with the eye someone uses to appraise things, he nods approvingly. Because here's the thing: he can say shit to and about Korrin since he's know Korrin for-fucking-ever, and Korrin's known him just the same. He was one of Asher's mad dwarves, and they know mercenary life, the lack of niceties. Christine is a Nice Girl. So Asher said.
"Pretty thing. Did you make it? Only you don't have a crafter's hands since you're not missing chunks of them." He holds his out for inspection, with the bloody bit from the trap, the broken nails, the old cuts and scrapes, the odd scars to them. Dirty rough working hands, square enough to only belong to a dwarf. "And that...the blade just--" A 'pchoo' sound comes out because look he hasn't seen the spirit blade do the thing, what does he know?
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"Sam made the hilt," she says, eyebrows furrowing as she looks at the state of his hands. It's not an uncommon sight around here to see craftsmen with such scrapes and scars. "Do you need me to look at that?" she asks, nodding towards the currently injured one. She'll get to the blade of the weapon in a minute, after she's sure he doesn't have an infection.
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(Spoiler: he got tossed in with the goats when he did just that Christine.)
"Sometimes I can't believe he does stuff like that when he's such an odd thing. Bit doglord, bit dog, bit fish, bit smith. What a mysterious creature. Course, many of my old gaffers had a term for such folk, don't know if you've got it round these parts but it's meant with fondness." It's not. But Yngvi would mean it that way because it's Yngvi and he's a shit like that because he also happens to be that same sort of person. "Need you to look at what?"
Let him buffer--
Buffering--
Connecting---
"What? That? Nah, spat on it, rubbed some dirt on it, I'll be grand."
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She does want to ask what that fond term is for someone like Sam, though she will probably roll her eyes and laugh at it, whatever it is. But her eyes widen at Yngvi's brush off.
"Yngvi! You don't want it filling with pus or rotting away, do you? You could lose your hand. It is nearly impossible to stop the spread of infection once it starts." Like with Asher, though she knows not to say it aloud.
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Rolling his eyes, he still gives her a pat with the good hand, or makes to because y'know he's filthy and she's proper. Well, she wasn't a proper Orlesian because Asher liked her but he's not Asher either but she doesn't have to suffer him if she'd rather not. Still. It's appreciated. "I've had so much worse, see this one here-" offering out the hand he points to a scar taking up a chunk of the middle finger of the other hand. "Nearly had that bitten clean off once by a lass - merchant's guild daughters, more trouble than they're worth you best believe - so Gunnar stitched up with thread we nicked off her."
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"A woman nearly bit it off? Did she file her teeth?" Because how else could blunt teeth cut through bone? Did she have an iron jaw? Actually, Christine isn't sure she wants to know.
Releasing a soft breath of frustration through her nose, Christine finally relents and says, "Please, just watch it for any abnormalities. If you have lasting pain, there may be something wrong inside and I will want to take a look." She can't let anything happen to one of Asher's own after she failed Asher himself. She just can't.
Now she looks down at the hilt of her spirit blade. "I should return to my training."