[OPEN] and I won't fight through the rising tide

[sans_harmony]

WHO: Diwaniya and anyone who wants to bother him.
WHAT: Diwa making an unintentional nuisance of himself all over Kirkwall, p. much.
WHEN: Throughout the month.
WHERE: All over the place.
NOTES: He's trying, really.

1. Docks

Having spent the last several years of his life governing a small island, Diwaniya's accustomed to spending a fair amount of time observing what goes on around the docks. But Harmony Isle had been tiny, and remote, and even at its busiest, there were never more than a few boats coming and going at once, all tiny rickety craft with humble, grizzled captains, trading simple goods for a few crates of herbs here and there. This--this is almost overwhelming. He's never been in a place quite like Kirkwall.

But the city of his childhood was close enough, from what little he remembers of it now. It's been years since he had cause to recall anything about Dillame, with its loud bustling shipyard and its scent of wet sea air, and his parents' modest inn by the shore, and the nostalgia hits him like a smack of salt spray to the face. It's not something he should remember. It's not relevant anymore, wouldn't have been relevant even if it were physically possible for him ever to see Dillame or his family again, but now that it's not--

In any case, someone should probably remind Diwaniya that a crowded dock filled with people hurriedly lugging cargo around is not an ideal spot to stand around navel-gazing. He's kind of getting in the way.

2. Library

Diwa's authoritative assertion that it would only take him two weeks to be able to read trade as fluently as a native had been, as it turns out, somewhat overconfident. Anders' patient instruction and a month's hard work have made it easy enough for him to read street signs, notices, things printed in large and clear lettering where every letter of the foreign alphabet is distinct and recognizable--but when has that ever applied to a book anyone would want to read? The tantalizing magical tomes in the library are as incomprehensible as ever, the fonts archaic and cramped and the ink sometimes faded and blurred, and no matter how many hours he spends trying to decipher the words, all he ever seems to end up with is a blinding headache.

Slamming the heavy text shut and shoving it aside is poor library etiquette, he knows, but he'd like to think he can be forgiven for it--at least until the book falls off the table with a deafening thud. Whoops.

3. Garden

The garden, at least, doesn't require him to be able to read in order to tend it well. It would help, but as long as he can remember what Sina explains, he can do without. He's been trained to memorize things quickly and easily, but all training hinges on practice, and that's why he's talking quietly to himself as he moves among the pots to water the herbs. "--arcanist's deathroot has the red flowers, and lunatic's deathroot has the purple--no. Arcanist has the purple, lunatic has the red. Arcanist purple, lunatic red. Arcanist purple..."

The plants have all been hand-labeled in a script nobody but Diwa can read. Nobody's complained yet.

4. Stables

When searching for work, Diwaniya had made a point of omitting his zoological credentials, though they're considerably more extensive than his botanical ones--at least back home, they are. Just because he studies animals doesn't mean he wants to be put in a position to take care of them. Even the apprentices in Terrestia aren't made to muck stables or feed creations. But now that he doesn't think he's in any danger of being handed a shovel or a pitchfork and told to get busy, he's brought a pen and paper to come make some observations of all the strange foreign fauna Thedas has to offer. Horses? What are those? This shit is crazy.

He sits down on a hay bale to sketch one, eagerly glancing up to take in new details and make notes in the margins of the drawing.

5. Wildcard!

Comments

[sans_harmony]

It's not their personalities Diwaniya's concerned with, really. His people think it's bad enough to have too much respect for other humans--animals are right out. Not that he wants to harm the beasts, of course, or see them treated inhumanely, but he views the horses he's sketching right now as a bunch of particularly interesting organic appliances.

He's been absorbed enough in his work that he doesn't quite realize he isn't alone in the stable, and looks up at Prompto with some surprise. "Me? No, of course not. I'm only observing them for research purposes."

There's no reason for that 'of course,' except that there's not a great deal of value placed on the arts where Diwa comes from. He is perfectly oblivious to any offense this may cause.

"Fascinating creatures, aren't they? Would you happen to know what they're called?"

[crowncitizen]

The "of course not" sounds a bit presumptuous to Prompto, admittedly, but he's not so forward in that regard that he's gonna confront the guy over it. Maybe he's just the diehard academic type.

"They're called horses. You don't have them where you're from?" That surprises him. Maybe he's a Rifter, like Prompto? He was under the impression horses were native to Thedas, so everyone from this world knew about them.

[sans_harmony]

"No," he says, carefully transliterating 'horses' into his own script and writing it down for future reference. As he writes, the shard in his hand catches the light.

"We have beasts of burden, engineered from what looks like similar base stock, but ours are sturdier. They're made for eating, more than anything. These don't look like they were created for that. They seem almost...fragile, for how large they are. I can see at least four glaring design flaws just from where I'm sitting." He tilts his head to examine the horse more critically.

"But they do have a real aesthetic appeal. I can see why an artist might like them. Are you one?"

[crowncitizen]

He catches that glint in the light. Yep, fellow Rifter. Prompto finds himself relaxing a bit more. He likes the natives well enough, but there's something comforting about talking to another Rifter. The mutual feeling of perhaps being just as lost and confused might have something to do with it.

"I think they're made just for riding, for the most part. I've seen some pretty big horses, though, too. Though, if you think these guys look fragile, you should see a chocobo. They're big birds, essentially. Not that you'll find one around here." To Prompto's perpetual disappointment. Sigh. He misses chocobos.

An artist? Well, he supposes in a sense... "Sort of. Not the drawing or painting kind, though."