A FOOL'S ERRAND | Closed.

[limier]

WHO: Wren Coupe + Malcolm Reed, Ioane, Inessa Serra, Simon Ashlock, Cade Harriman, Anders + NPCs
WHAT: The Inquisition has word that a handful of Red Templars may have broken from Corypheus' control. A team has been sent to investigate, and decide upon a course of action.
WHEN: Forward-dated to the end of the month.
WHERE: The Free Marches
NOTES: OOC Post; Violence, body horror, language. Will edit if stuff comes up.

Pieces will be edited in as we go!

Contents;

• Arrival
• Confronting Ser Hayes
•  

Previous Conversations;

• Taashaath
• Malcolm - 1, 2, 3
• Norrington - 1, 2
• Samson
• Anders

 

Comments

[limier]

It would be easy to mistake her tone for calm:

"Will you be staying in camp, then?"

These aren't standard circumstance; injury is as like to mean contamination. Far from fatal at a single dose — but a danger to keep any of it in him, the sort not easily-resolved by stitches and a bit of digging.

"I'll not place the others at risk."

Wren's arms fold. A bulwark might as easily be set against them.

[paladingus]

Having survived the Gallows cleanup without major incident, Simon thinks he has a handle on the whole red lyrium thing. Even when he'd flouted the safety protocols--just a little, with that patented Ashlock combination of pride and self-flagellation--he'd never been given a real reason to fear much more than spooky voices and disorientation. He doesn't know what getting injured here could mean.

But he knows for damn sure that nobody's leaving him behind anywhere. His jaw sets and locks, mind working rapidly through a list of stupid and insubordinate responses--fine time to be developing standards about that, isn't it? or out of this whole merry band of maniacs, you think I'm the safety hazard? or a half-dozen other things that would have him justifiably confined to quarters--such as they are--at the very least.

What he says, eventually, is "I didn't come here to waste my time in a tent. But you can't tell me you'd feel differently about giving him something like that to hold over you."

[limier]

Wren doesn't answer. One arm untangles, snakes up to tug her collar loose. The scar's an ugly thing, rent nearly ear-to-ear: Not the sort of wound one typically survives. She bares it to him.

(Not Anders' work — but not a lie, either. He's tended it capably enough.)

"Feel as you will," Deliberately. "But I will never ask you do anything I would not."

A moment, hands linger, and she sets about lacing it back up. Dramatic effect's all well and good, but the fewer people that know of this, the better.

"I shall be glad to have you along."

[paladingus]

Perhaps he ought to do her the respect of really, fully taking the scar in, if she's going to do him the honor of showing it to him for a point, but he looks away from it after a bare second's glance. Simon is an easily-chastened sort.

Her intended implication does indeed soak right in, and even so, he hates the thought of Anders laying a hand on any respectable templar as if he deserves to--but there is no room for that kind of pride here. The tattered remnants of the Order have lost more than they can afford to already. And he'd been too proud to be asked along on this mission to throw away the goodwill he's incurred with his superiors on a symbolic gesture of disdain for a mage. He's working his way up from the bottom here. He can't afford to misstep.

"Well." He exhales, slowly. "I am glad you feel that way, Knight-Lieutenant. Thanks."

[limier]

Satisfied, she claps a hand to his shoulder.

"Keep an eye on Harriman, will you?"

A short nod before she steps away. No need to hover — and in that, about as much open approval as he’s going to get.