Araceli is generally busy. Running around the docks to start the long process of trying to get in good with the sailors because she knows how sailors work and it's why it was heavily hinted to her that perhaps she might wish to feel the sea breeze again. That letter is tucked firmly away high in the cracked brickwork of Skyhold for the wind or an enterprising raven to tug free, or for someone to come across one day. Manual labour isn't her strong suit anyway unless it's the cleaning or taking care of rifts and she's happy to get away from that even if it's more work.

Papers tucked under her arm and in her coat pockets or somewhere on her bodice if it's one of the days she's wearing a dress (best foot forward and look, she had a very fine line of credit left for her, it wasn't going to go to waste now was it?) she's out and about. Somewhere. Smiling politely even when it feels like her jaw is going to crack from the strain of it sometimes or when the urge to sink her nails into her palm after she's explained things for the hundredth fucking time start to wear.

At least her work gets to involve gambling. Honest. So if you need to come find her for whatever reason she's around. She's one of the first to volunteer to cook in absence of doing the heavy lifting, ready to enlist someone else to help her out or to stop and chat while she works and they eat if it's not mobbed.