OPEN | coldest comfort, safety glass

[limier]

WHO: Wren, Anders, Gwen, and OTA.
WHAT: Arrivals at Skyhold & Junk.
WHEN: Post-Winter Palace. Catchall.
WHERE: Skyhold.
NOTES: I'll edit if anything comes up!

Starters in comments. If you'd like a specific starter, or to make plans for later in the month, just let me know on plurk or Discord (oeste #8807).  :)

Comments

[inagutterson]

"Let's say you did, and let's say I had some mutually interested parties. You couldn't be persuaded to part with some dye, woman like you, doesn't need all that frippery and we know the Templar fashion choices are limited. Bit of red here, bit of purple if you ever wear that big embroidered skirt thing. Do they still wear the big skirt things?" It's been a bit since he's seen just as many of the big skirt things, he hasn't had a chance to ask about that one and the family needs intel.

He has a lot of surly older dwarves he has to report back to. Still, he'd take them and the death mage over wardens since you can't trust folk Orzammar goes about respecting and making deals with.

"Nah, it's how I got from Orlais to Skyhold. Team of twenty. Rump Roast, Nug Wellington, Stroganugg and Truffles are the heavy-hitters and the leaders of the pack. The other sixteen make up the numbers. Understudies if you like." People did indeed witness him sticking the landing when he arrived. Hint: he did not stick the landing.

[limier]

She snorts. Time to try and sidestep any implication of selling her stash. On the long, long list of things that'll never happen, it's right up there next to 'check a dracolisk's teeth' and 'admit there's anything worthwhile about Anders'.

"Do you know, I had to beg off dispensation from those?" Great unwieldly things that they are. She wants a word or six with whoever designed the uniforms. Makes you look priestly, sure, as though anyone ever wanted to hear a Templar chant. "Tripped on one, during a chase. Nearly broke my fucking nose."

An admission hopefully distracting enough to keep the conversation flowing.

"Always wondered they didn't nip up the hemlines. Solve the whole problem. How in the void do you get twenty nugs going in the same direction?"

[inagutterson]

Sometimes Yngvi surprises even himself with how ugly his laugh is but what can you do? "What do they do to you for that? Scrubbing every privy in the Circle and as many local Chantries until the Maker himself can feel your shame? Unless you managed to tackle someone. What a way to go."

Some mages are into that, don't judge them. Smuggling letters for them in Kirkwall was boring as hell okay, you had to amuse yourself somehow and reading the letters was a) part of the job because you never know what you'll find and b) a way to stave off the boredom of 'alas and woe, I am bereft in my tower with a real bed and regular meals provided to me for no charge'. Mages. Also Templars but Templars at least bought things more often than not.

You're alright Wren. You're alright. You will never be rid of him. Speaking of which...

He swings himself up somewhat proudly, scoops a nug right up to his face to admire the frankly hideous visage that no longer seems so terrified of him as it was before he answers. "How do you get anything going? Threats. Said I'd start eating them if they didn't get themselves moving. People race them anyway - get one going in a direction, rest of them all go because they're smart enough to realise 'shit, time to go' but not smart enough to scatter." That's good dwarven instinct there. Scattering. Invented by them. He'll fight anyone that says otherwise.

[limier]

"He looked back and ran into a vegetable cart. Startled himself into setting it on fire — street smelled like burning leeks for a month. Not our finest moment."

Because they've had so many of those lately.

"Suffice to say, Val Royeaux has many shrines." And all of them have floors that need mopping. Ah, to be young again.

"They sound easy enough to move, then. Perhaps more difficult to stop." The nugs, that is, not the shrines. Though she supposes that someone more inclined could make a pithy comment about that. "I have heard rumours of some giant, horned breed. Fabulously rare."

She's also heard that Qun's really not so bad, and that if you say 'Meredith Stannard' into a dark mirror three times, she'll appear to tell you off. So she's a little dubious.

[inagutterson]

"Valid strategy is valid strategy, you should go submit that one to the higher-ups here. Bet it's smarter than some of the other shit like making nice to ponces."

There's too much nonsense going on, everyone just needs to get back to basics. Old school. Just really go for it and see what actually gets done when you rely on instinct instead of fretting about the silverware.

"There's a trick. We only know it up on the surface, surface born only because Orzammar just pollutes you something rotten and that's nothing against the casteless because that's not their fault they got a raw deal but the rest of them? Toss 'em all on the midden I say." Orzammar if you've got your people listening he's putting you on blast, run back and tell Bhelen that the surfacers still hate you thanks. "Oh those things? They got some a while back, in the stables but they aren't what they're cracked up to be. One farted and killed the stable boy then the dracolisks tore out his liver. Tragic."

How handy that Yngvi is spreading the belief of Gallows statues-that-walked-that-one night worship amongst the Kirkwall masses then, what is it with these Kirkwall fringe beliefs eh?

[limier]

She lifts one eyebrow, careful to otherwise school her face into impassivity.

"So they're already combat-trained," Set a match to the right nuggalope ass, and you could rival Qunari powder. If only half her job weren't making nice to ponces. "And the Dracolisks know to fetch their own rations."

"An Inquisition of many wonders."