faderift | open - are we there yet?

Entry tags:

open - are we there yet?

WHO: Sigrun and Kaisa, Sigrun and YOU

WHAT: Sigrun gets to Skyhold.
WHEN: Guardian, 9:43 Dragon
WHERE: Around Skyhold
NOTES: If you have an idea for a more specific starter not included here, let me know!

part a - arriving at skyhold (closed to kaisa, continuation of this)

When the outline of a person fades into view on the edges of her vision, Sigrun instinctively grasps the hilt of one of her swords, squinting through the onslaught of snow and trying to determine who or what is bounding towards her. Once the figure gets close enough to be recognizable in spite of the weather, however, her grip goes slack. Is that...?

“Kaisa--!” Relief rushes through her, which reinvigorates her enough to ignore her numb limbs in favor of doubling her pace. Which really just means she’s wading through the snow slightly faster, but she’s trying, okay. It looks silly and undignified and unabashed, meaning the company in question is the perfect accent to these antics. Being composed is for the boring wardens.

Once both parties have closed the distance, Sigrun smiles wide and breathes hard, resting her hands on her knees. “Yes, well.” Huff. “You know me.” Huff puff. “I never know when to quit.” It takes another minute for her to fully catch her breath. Once she’s confident she has enough air in her lungs to form full sentences, she gives Puppy’s ears a good scratch and leans her weight against him. “I don’t think everything ever stopped being weird. But you can tell me all about it on the way back.”

The offer for help is wordlessly accepted by Sigrun pulling herself up and onto Puppy’s back. She shoots Kaisa a cheeky grin once she’s settled in, tilting her head as if to say this is what you meant, right? “I think I can manage. As long as I have the help of this noble steed, of course.”

part b - warden camp

Sigrun sits in front of a campfire in the warden camp as if she belongs there. As if she never left. As if this place even existed when she was here last, which it certainly did not. The situation around here has improved in more ways than just the sleeping conditions, near as she can tell, but there’s still so much she doesn’t know. There are things she needs to confront and work out and it makes her head spin to think about any of it. It’s all too complicated. She’s a simple dwarf with simple needs, like stabbing darkspawn with a sword and staring at shiny things and trying to make the world better. How did she wind up here, plagued by thoughts of traitorous wardens and demons and dwarves consumed by red lyrium to the point of returning to the Stone in the most twisted and sacrilegious way possible?

She closes her eyes and wiggles her toes in front of the fire, soaking in the moment and driving her troubled thoughts away to address them at a later date. Not today. She’s not dealing with those today. Today is for warmth and friends and untroubled (less troubled, anyway) sleep. The grim expression on her face eases, the furrow in her brow falls away, and she’s left with silence, save for the crackling of the flames. It's a good time to approach, if you don't mind her lounging in casual wear while her Legionnaire armor (notably not her warden armor) is drying out beside her.

part c - tavern

After the sun has set and Sigrun’s frozen bones have been sufficiently thawed by the warmth of actual, tangible flames and sentimentality alike, she retires to the tavern. She needs a drink. She needs about 100 drinks, if you do the math and divide what she’s been through by the time she’s spent in a tavern lately (which equals none at all), but that would probably kill her. So she starts off with one and makes it last by sipping slowly, coaxing conversation out of those around her with humor and tall tales. It’s not hard to find her in the middle of a bad joke. Or staring into her cup wistfully. It’s been a long day.

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Sigrun has some company in the form of a Vashoth woman who's taking up more than one seat with her long legs. Fortunately, the tavern's not that crowded and the bar area isn't full, so her actions aren't strictly speaking inconsiderate. Qunari take up a lot of space, okay.

Catching the dwarven woman staring into her cup, Korrin smiles. "It won't get drunk just by staring at it, you know. Everyone deserves to unwind a little these days. If money's an issue, I wouldn't worry about it. The beer fairy likes to pay everyone a round now and then."

Edited 2017-02-13 04:12 (UTC)

It's a good thing that dwarves takes up so little space, then. She'd take up more if she were wearing her bulky armor, but that would go against the idea of relaxing. For now, the special of the night is Sigrun: Casual Edition, featuring clothes that are too big for her and a sash around the waist to keep it all in place.

Korrin catches her off guard, and Sigrun almost spills her drink in response. Almost. Twitchy as she may be in her current state, her senses are sharp enough to not let such a gift go to waste. What starts as a tiny yelp turns into a long drown out "Iiii," followed by a full sentence that was always intended to be that way and not at all an attempt at recovery on her part. "Know that. Obviously." She coughs and tightens the grip on her cup, pulling it against her chest. Smooth. "I'm only keeping my size in mind. It doesn't take much for me to get drunk, and I want to remember tonight." A pause. "Maybe? Probably."

"Okay, no pimping out qunari hooch. Got it. That's only good for a dare, anyway, nothing to savor when it kills your tastebuds." It's also good for watching overconfident non-qunari drink it and succumb, too. Korrin takes another sip of her ale, resisting the urge to stretch out more than she is already.

"What's special about tonight, that demands relative sobriety? Is there another holiday I forgot about?"

"I think my tastebuds stopped functioning somewhere between all the mushrooms and hardtack. Still, not a good idea for plenty of other reasons." Sigrun takes a long drink from her cup at that. Her presence takes up more space than her dwarven physique would suggest on good days. On mixed days like this, it's tempered enough to match her physical form. On the bright side, this means there's plenty of room to relax.

"Is this the part where I say that my being here makes it a holiday?" She chuckles a bit and shrugs her shoulders. The hand that's not holding her drink rubs at the back of her neck, accompanying a modest grin. "The real answer is not nearly as exciting. I was gone for a long time, and now I am back. It feels like it should be worth celebrating." There's an unspoken but... clinging on to the end of her statement that she refuses to voice.

Mention of mushrooms and hardtack has Korrin wrinkling her nose in sympathy. She's been in similar situations before and dealt with it because that's what mercenaries do, but that doesn't mean it was fun. Quite the opposite.

"Hell yeah, it's worth celebrating. It sounds like you went through a lot of shit just to get here, not wading through it anymore is something worth drinking to. At least, I'd say so." The unspoken but has her raising an eyebrow, wondering at to what's holding her back. "Why wouldn't you deserve it?"

There's the sound of something heavy approaching, though if Sigrun opens her eyes to see, it's just a mabari. Encrusted with snow as though he's been rolling around in it, the war hound's demeanor is more than of a spoiled pet at present. He goes to sniff this new dwarven buddy, wagging his tail and maybe (definitely) hoping that she has a treat on her. Can't she see that he's starving? (No, he isn't.)

Doing her best to catch up to him is a small, pale elven woman in Grey Warden gear. She's tucking away the ball that her canine companion has been fetching, calling out. "Garahel! Mind your manners, and no jumping." If it sounds a bit automatic...well, it is. Inessa's eyebrows raise as she gets a better look at his present company. Dwarven Wardens aren't that uncommon, but those Legion of the Dead tattoos are familiar...and then it strikes her where she's seen those before. Warden-Commander Clarel's meeting in Orlais. Her fellow Warden was one of those not receptive to the Warden-Commander's plan, and that brings out a small smile upon remembering. "Hello, again. I hope my companion isn't being too much of a pest."

While those tales were likely very tall, this man was taller. Yet he just smiled and laughed at what he heard from her, actually appreciating the humor rather than groaning from it. Either he was easily amused or a very good sport. Since both were very likely given his nature...

Anyway, the large man finished off his drink and called for another. Was this his third? Fourth? He was really slamming them down without there seeming to be any consequence for it!

"I like you, my friend! Your stories are wonderful!"

"You think so? The other legionnaires said that last one was too crass. I am not sure if that was because of the swearing or the colorful way the darkspawn were described, but..." Sigrun trails off with a shrug and swirls her drink around, smiling in an aw, shucks kind of way. Her free hand is thrust forward for shaking a moment later, as it occurs to her that she should have done that about two drinks ago.

"My name is Sigrun, by the way. And you are..." She eyes him up (and up and up), and by the time she reaches his face, blurts out, "Really tall." Astute observation skills.

He laughed at the observation even as he took her hand. It was hardly the first time someone had pointed out that he was a tall man and it would hardly be the last, he knew that well. Such was the life one lived when they were just shy of seven feet tall. "I am! However, my name is Iskandar. I'm more likely to respond to that than Really Tall."

Of course he had to tease her a bit. He liked her! It was simply a requirement at this point. "As for your story, I'd say the swearing and colorful speech was what made it interesting! Well more so!"

"That's fair. I do respond when someone shouts, 'Hey, you! Dwarf!' But it's usually to give them a dirty look." Her handshake is strong and firm, an indication that the claims of fighting prowess in her stories may be more than just stories. If she had any sense of social etiquette, she might be embarrassed about her code of conduct and the teasing resulting thereof. Except she's Sigrun, and manners are for people that can afford the luxury of developing them growing up, so it rolls right off her back.

"See, that's what I thought! I'm glad someone appreciates it." Cue an enthusiastic nod. "You pick up a lot of language as a casteless. Most of it is not worth repeating. Every now and then, though... If it fits, it fits." She is not an eloquent dwarf, nor does she claim to be. She is, however, a naturally curious one. When the handshake is done, she props an elbow on the bar and cups her chin in her hand, leaning forward and peering at Iskandar with a twinkle in her eye. "Do you have any good stories about being tall? Any interesting positions it has left you in? I think I have spoken enough about being close to the ground. Or below it."

"A dirty look? You are so pleasant a young woman though!" He blinked in surprise, obviously not that familiar the Dwarf culture to know if that was what led to it. Or if maybe she just knew rude people. He'd only just met her so he had yet to really know much of anything. Still, he did laugh when she asked about his own stories.

"I cannot say I have many actually. Much of the places I was were built large and grand. I'm sure some of it was to satisfy my grand stature but it is also rather appealing to the gods to have such vast spaces. I know I certainly appreciated the openness of my buildings." He stroked his chin in thought, pondering what to come up with for a story. When he had one, he gave a cry of triumph and clapped his hands together.

"Ah! I have the perfect tale for you! The time I was most intoxicated and found my head trapped in a vase!" Which sounded like he should be humiliated by it but he showed no signs of that as he grinned widely. Ah the blessings of being shameless.

It's not that Jamie doesn't appreciate jokes, because he's as fond of them as the next man. But when it comes to bad jokes or puns, there's times where he simply can't help just groan over them. Today is one of those times - to the point where the groan almost seems to reflect itself in his expression as lowers his tankard and sets it back on the bar's surface.

"Och, that's almost as bad as some of the ones my friend tells. Where on Ear...er, Thedas did you hear that one?"

"Then your friend has good taste, and I'm honored by the comparison." Sigrun goes through the motions of a mock bow, or however much of one she can manage without getting up from her chair. "I made up that one myself. Hard to believe, I know. As it turns out, you have a lot of opportunities to come up with jokes when you're travelling by yourself. It passes the time. Bearly." She snorts and nudges him with an elbow. "Get it? Because of the joke with the bears?"

Really helping her reputation, here.

Oh, he gets it - and normally he'd wind up making more faces. Having that same friend finally having turned up after ages of not seeing him, however has put Jamie in a relatively good mood and decides to play along. He even manages to keep a straight face, more or less, although there's a tiny little twitching around the corners of his mouth that still might wind up betraying him to anyone looking closely enough.

"Aye, well, I'll admit you gave me paws there for a moment, but I think I've got the hang of it now."

There's worse things than bear puns, after all.

"So if you've been traveling, I daresay you've a few more of those up your sleeve, then."

Alistair nearly walks past her, at first. There aren't so many people who live here that he doesn't notice when someone doesn't belong—not Teren, not Nathaniel, not Anders or Velanna or Kaisa or Inessa or Ciri or Kain or Felix, ergo someone else—but he's preoccupied. He sees Sigrun. He thinks oh, there's Sigrun, and why shouldn't she be there? before resuming his very important thoughts about Corypheus.

But then he stops. (Otherwise this would be a very short log.) He pivots, boots loudly grinding the ice under his feet, and gives her a baffled but delighted grin.

"You're back!" he says, exclamation point and all, and spreads his hands palms-up to indicate all of everything. "As you can see, we've saved the word without you and there's nothing really left to do."

That's one of the more outlandish lies he's told recently.

"Right, and I'm a bronto that miraculously learned how to talk." The comeback is instantly voiced and fueled by pure instinct, like remembering how to ride a bike (if Thedas had bikes). Which is good, because the rest of her body takes a moment to catch up with her mouth. Encountering Alistair after all this time feels like nothing and everything has changed all at once, and it leaves her floundering, not quite sure how to respond.

She settles on a hint of a smile and a laugh, cheerful and only a little more reserved than usual.

"You must have done something right, though, what with the voices being gone. ... The ones that weren't there before, I mean." Sigrun threads her hands behind her head and leeaans back, crossing her ankles. It would look more cool and casual if she weren't sitting on a log. "I would ask how you did it, but I expect I wouldn't get a straight answer."

Kettle, meet pot.

Yeah, well, you know what, pot? If you're going to call the kettle black the kettle is going to be white just to spite you. It's that kind of kettle. Alistair crosses his arms and cocks an eyebrow and says, "We went--really, physically--into the Fade and killed a Fear demon that size of a fortress that was helping Corypheus get into our heads," he says, "while some others went to Weisshaupt Fortress to look into things and rescued a bunch of baby griffons."

So there.

"Where have you been?"

The Doctor drank more often in this body than the last one. And especially more often since his loss of River. Being here was a lot to take in for him. No River, no TARDIS, no sonic, no technology to speak of, really. About the only thing that was normal was the Tavern.

So he was here, drowning his sorrows as it were. That was when he heard the woman sat next to him crack a bad joke. He could be rather punny when he wanted to be but that was...

"Oh, did you have to? Look, I'm me and I'm even saying that wasn't a good joke."

Seriously, it was an accomplishment.

"I'd argue that it was. It got a reaction, didn't it? That's how you know it was good. If it doesn't get a laugh or a groan, it's not worth telling." She gives a sage nod and looks awfully pleased with herself, as if she's an expert on the subject and not a dwarf throwing words at the wall until she stumbles across something that sticks.

"Also, I don't know who me is, so that's not a very helpful point of reference."

He pulls a face.

"Really? Is that all that matters to you? 'A reaction'? Why not set the bar just a little bit higher and go for a postive reaction?"

Because, wow, low standards. He purses his lips.

"I keep forgetting how humbling this place is. I have so many titles. Take your pick: 'time-travelling scientist dressed as a magician' or 'super-intelligent alien being who flies in time and space'."

He grins. Yes he thinks he's cute.

While she isn't one of the more common visitors to the camp (at least walking as a woman), Morrigan still comes and goes now and then. As ever she walks as if she belongs because why shouldn't she, a smallish pack slung over one shoulder with a few things poking out of it that she has to drop off before she heads back up to Skyhold.

A book or two poke out of it, a few vials, other odds and ends that might find some use but she stops by the fire to warm her hands for a moment, glancing at the dwarf then giving her a longer look when she realises that no, she doesn't know this one and that is armour she hadn't thought to see again in her lifetime.

"Do you bring news from the Deep Roads?"

Morrigan looks... Familiar, somehow, in a way that Sigrun can't quite place. Like seeing someone that matches a mental image you built up in your head after hearing a story, but you've never seen them in person. Later, she'll realize this is because Cousland had told her of the witch of the wilds when recounting his adventures in the past, but for now she is just mildly unnerved.

"What, you think I'm from the Deep Roads just because I'm a dwarf? That's culturally insensitive, you know." She feigns offense and thinks this is a comment she can get away with because most humans don't know or recognize signs of the Legion on sight. Morrigan has the upper hand on her, in that regard. In a lot of regards, truthfully. Sigrun thrives in her ignorant bliss.

"And, incidentally, completely true. The news is: It's still terrible. I would not recommend going there unless you like the thought of being eviscerated by darkspawn. Or..." Her brow furrows, and she presses her lips in a thin line, the words that follow mumbled and slightly strained. "Whatever you call creatures that have been corrupted by red lyrium."

After weathering so very long in Orlais, Morrigan raises an eyebrow in that way that could convey a thousand words if she wished to. A trick a girl learned from crows rather than a nutty old bat that might have been mentioned. Or not. She doesn't know what things Cousland might have thought to discuss in the time since their parting though she smiles and coaxes the fire to burn a little hotter with her magic.

"Were you larger and in possession of horns, the words might carry more weight." Skyhold being Skyhold and in possession of several grey ones with their various allegiances to the Qun being whatever they might happen to be. "There are two ways a person might come across such armour are there not? Honestly or...dishonestly." The pause is necessary, the tilt of her head too for her eyes to catch the light as she smiles again to show that she means no malice; ten years have passed, the claws are tucked away, the edges only sharp when they need to be.

"Red Templars, their other victims are simply that." Thus far she supposes all are thankful that the red lyrium isn't the Blight (ha ha ha) where all manner of beasts might become twisted and misshapen. No one needs the corrupted spiders, the blight wolves, the bereskarns. Not unless Morrigan is of a particular mood and decides she's going to remind them all of things people might still have nightmares of for she has seen too many, met too many who remember being caught in the eye of the storm with nowhere else to turn as so much of the world forgets so easily. But that is the way of it. The way of mankind, bitter as it may be to swallow. "I ventured as far as Vimmark on an errand for the Inquisition, fortunately there? No corruption save what you must be sadly familiar with."

He's headed back to the Warden Camp from working in the healing tents for the day stretching, ready to settle down at the campfire, when he sees her and stops. Anders rubs his eyes and blinks, and it doesn't change that she's really here. For a few moments he just stands there. Meeting people from his past is stressful when he doesn't know if they'd be furious to see him or friendly, but he has to hope Sigrun will be the latter.

Quietly he comes up and takes a breath. "Hello, Sigrun."

Well, if it helps, most of the boring Wardens are dead, now.

...That probably doesn't help.

"Quitting is for quiters, don't you know." Is the cheerful and incredibly wise reply, as Kaisa does what she can to help Sigrun, checking to make sure Puppy can handle it. Once confirmed that everyone is good to go, Kaisa gives both of them a salute and starts walking, breaking up the snow for them. After a few steps, though, she turns around so she can talk while walking.

"Eh, dumb mutt might as well do something useful." It's said in an affectionate manner, though, with a fond grin at the 'dumb mutt'. "But I mean--Weirder? It's not weirder. We're not all hearing the Calling 24/7, so that's pretty great. Anders showed back up and he's with the Wardens again, which is cool. But...it also got a lot of people pissed at us, and now we're kinda not allowed to live in Skyhold? So that's a thing, too." A stupid thing, her tone implies, nose scrunched up.

"Alistair, you know That Alistair--don't call him that, though, unless you're trying to piss him off--is the current senior Warden, believe it or not. But he doesn't do a lot of bossing around, he lets Nathaniel and Teren do most of it. Probably 'cause they're good at it." And Alistair...isn't. She shrugs, though, in a 'what can you do' kind of way. "But they're both reasonable. No one's tried to sacrifice me for a blood magic ritual yet, so that's a step over Clarel."

May they rest in peace and ignore the temptation to roll in their graves at the mere existence of these cornballs.

“I don’t know, I kind of liked it. Who doesn’t want their own personal minstrel projecting music into their head? I bet some people would pay good money for that.” Enough time has passed that Sigrun can make light of the Calling without immediately grimacing. Instead, the corner of her mouth just sort of twitches. Baby steps.

As Kaisa keeps talking, Sigrun manages to remain mostly straight-faced. Her slowly widening eyes betray the fact that she’s actually more lost and confused than she lets on and is only pretending to accept this information at face value to seem like less of an out of touch hermit, but it’s subtle. For Sigrun, anyway. Combined with the visual hardships the weather is so intent on providing and the assumption that Kaisa is paying more attention to their surroundings than minute facial details, it is easy to miss.

“Anders and Nathaniel are here? Wow. I turn my back for one minute…” A year, Sigrun. "Nothing like needing a hero to make the unlikeliest ones crawl their way out of the stonework, huh?" She pats the dog like it will agree with her. Or maybe she just likes petting dogs? Who can say.

“That all sounds about right, leadership-wise. I can accept that. It is not as if I slept much when I was at Skyhold last, so that part does not bother me so much, either. What I want to know is…” Her eyes narrow, and this time it is noticeable, both in her expression and her hardened tone of voice. “What happened to Clarel?”

"Well, tell ya what, Sigrun, you go track down Corypheus and tell him that you want an encore." Kaisa is in fact pretty distracted: by the snow, by her own thoughts, by trying to make sure Puppy doesn't get overexcited and bound off, taking Sigrun along with him. So Sigrun's sneaky confusion is snuck right on past her, and she just cheerfully continues on.

"Oh yeah, he arrived a little bit after I did. By the way, him and Anders?" Kaisa glances over and wiggles her eyebrows meaningfully. And then, in case that was too subtle, makes a vague (but obscene) hand gesture. "Try t' get a tent away from them, if you know what I mean. There's a handful of baby Wardens running around too--I'm not sure who you'd know and who you wouldn't, but I'm sure you'll meet 'em all soon enough." Puppy, for his part, seems to agree with Sigrun, from the way his tail wags away, and he gives a quiet 'wuff'. Or maybe he just likes getting pet.

At the mention of Clarel, Kaisa's nose wrinkles. "She's in the dungeons. I haven't seen her. Don't have anything to say to her. She knows what she did. You're welcome to, if you want to. They're treating her decent, for a prisoner."

Warmth sounds good to Kain right about now, as he's just coming in from a long day of training and hunting. He's typically keeping himself overly busy, so when it comes time to rest for a bit... he usually really needs it. So he heads over toward the fire to settle in. He soon enough realizes he's not the only one with this idea.

"Hope you don't mind. I just need a moment to warm up." He glances over... she's not a familiar face. "Have you been around Skyhold long?"

Most of the people who used to make sure that Cullen took care of himself are gone. Busy. More important things to handle, and he doesn't begrudge anyone that choice. It does mean he's back to eating less. Which is probably not the best thing for him right now. Occasionally he'll leave it long enough that he actually feels hungry, which is a bad place to be.

Now is one of those times, sitting by himself, staring into a bowl of something he doesn't quite remember ordering, trying to make himself want to eat it. When someone comes up to the bar next to him to order a drink, he glances over out of habit. It's a woman he doesn't know, though, and he just nods in what might be a greeting before turning back to his food.

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open - are we there yet?

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C - Before TTT

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the one labeled for meee

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tavern