[open] we ask that life be kind

[eolasemah]

WHO: Sina, the greater Kirkwall populace (including you)
WHAT: dealing with the magic forest backlash
WHEN: early August
WHERE: the steps of the former Chantry
NOTES: with regard to this fiasco

It's early morning, but past sunrise, so many people are still on their way to their daily occupations when a small Dalish elf takes up residence on the steps of what used to be the Chantry and is now a very condensed forest. She's brought with her supplies to see her through the day: a few snacks and plenty to work on, mainly grinding herbs and creating poultices and tea blends, unremarkable and nonmagical activities to put people at ease.
Sina has paid little mind to the guards around the garden's perimeter, apart from offering each of them a bit of dried fruit for their trouble, and she has more of the same for anyone who comes to talk to her. To each, the message is the same: it was me, I did this for you, and there is no reason to be afraid.

Of course, there is a reasonable contingent of those who prefer to shout and carry on, some simply grieving over their chantry and their lack of control in repurposing it, some insisting this is Dalish trickery that should be punished. To both, she listens and says little, with apologies to the former group and polite deflections to the latter.

Over the course of the day she finds herself joined by an assortment of people from the street, who come and go in their efforts to make coin or simply occupy themselves: the occasional musician, bored children, beggars. Sometimes they interact with Sina and sometimes they don't, but regardless, she hold her vigil and, to a degree, actually enjoys it.

Perhaps it doesn't help at all. But whatever the case, the people of Kirkwall who care to look will find a face and a voice connected to the sudden forest, as well as a pointed listening ear and a giving hand.

[Feel free to approach sometime during the day, or we can arrange an interaction after!]

Comments

the sands of time are ever forgiving (don't worry)

[eolasemah]

Ah, here's a familiar face. One that has made Sina cry before, and seen her cry for unrelated reasons, and possibly cried as a result of her, though Sina can't be sure of that. She steels herself a little when she sees Herian approaching-- none of them like to think about that mission-- but greets her with a cordial nod nonetheless.

"Yes," she answers simply, "a fair few." She looks tired, but not worn out. She knows what she's doin.

the sands of time will never be out of my shoes, probably

[dashing]

Herian just... sighs. There are lectures to be given voice, but she is not sure there is any need of them with Sina. (If she were inclined to give it thought at this very moment then she might dwell on the fact that time had allowed her a better appreciation of Pel and Sina, but she is not even remotely inclined to give it thought.) Her more typical vitriol is set aside; for Sina there would be gentler cautions, but even those do not seem right.

It has been months since that mission, and months since they have really properly spoken, and even how much quality conversation was had was a matter for some debate.

Another sigh. It's not on purpose, she's just dealing with her brain chasing in unhelpful patterns.

"I— was going to say that I had only encountered the likes of this in battle. Sudden trees and plants that seemed to come out of nowhere, ready to suffocate or imprison or... rend a person limb from limb." Her words are quiet, slowly spoken - strange emphasis falls on them, but they're too pensive for that slowness and careful sounding out to be deliberately malicious. It's more like she's testing out her words for herself. "This is... different."

Which sounds uncomfortable, like Herian is pushing herself to speak awkward shapes with a burned tongue.

wear some of them time flipflops

[eolasemah]

SIna looks about the same as she did months ago, perhaps a little thinner, at the very least happier, since the last time they saw one another was among the worst times in her life. Even so, she's not terribly happy at the moment, Herian always managing to bring out an anxiety she's otherwise skilled at keeping hidden.
"You've seen me do it," she adds with a quiet smirk, "it is different." She grew thorns over the ground and up a person's leg. To prevent her own death, and those of two others. Self-consciously, Sina clasps her hands, remembering how they were broken and burned in retribution.

with some time socks to be truly vogue

[dashing]

"I have. And I had seen it before that time, as well."

Against her father. Against Lady Vauquelin's mother.

She isn't really sure how to articulate the kind of fear that the Dalish magic struck in her without betraying some part of herself, the part that needs to be noble and strong and brave. Oh, bravery was acting despite fear, not being undermined by it, and yet it was no easy thing to give voice. Granting it that much was just giving it more strength, more solidity.

Inhale, exhale, instinctual behaviour turned significant somehow. "I can see how this is a gesture of healing and rebirth." But.

[eolasemah]

Sina had never thought she herself could be so terrified of Dalish magic. Those emotional wounds have scarred over but never properly healed, and perhaps they never will; Herian bringing them up certainly isn't helping.
She hears the 'but' in the woman's voice and lifts her gaze to meet Herian's, a glint in her eye suggesting she's nearing the end of her tether. Go on then, say it. Get it over with, start the argument, clearly nothing will ever change between them. Sina waits, wearily.

[dashing]

"Do you not worry that there are those that might consider this an attack? A display of magic's strength, even if they know not that it is tied to your people?"

Herian's mouth snags, brow furrowed. She has some sense that her words will not land with their intent - that is the unfortunate downside of being a generally difficult person to deal with, one might suppose, if one did not think her behaviour was quite reasonable.

"To have made such a change so rapidly could be put down only to one thing, and in a city with so volatile a past as this, it could be deemed a threat of magic being used to wipe swallow Kirkwall." Logically, of course, an entire city being overrun by plants and forestry was a very different matter to one cite being converted, and yet, she suspected the whispers were no less likely.

[eolasemah]

Waiting for Herian to finish speaking, Sina simply watches her, shoulders slumped and eyes tired. Yes. Yes, she worries. This is the exact conversation she's been having all day, with various people, but at least Herian has the honor of being one of the few around whom Sina feels she can take her pleasant face off for a little while.

"Yes," she answers plainly, "I've heard it all. That's why I'm here." She gestures vaguely around her. "All I can do is give the people of Kirkwall a face to speak to rather than an invisible Dalish abomination who's come to destroy them all."

[dashing]

Herian nods, and though her expression is Not Happy, when has it ever actually been happy around Sina? Or most people, for that matter. The point is, at the very least she's not being a feral cat about it.

"Let us hope that they are not spurred to take recompense against the elves here, in lieu of your people." And, in an effort to try and not be totally negative, Herian adds: "It is a beautiful idea, Sina."

Just, you know. You're Problematic, etc.

[eolasemah]

Sina, the Inquisition's Problematic Fav. Or... not fav. Depends on who you ask.

"Yes," she says again, flatly, hoping Herian will move along sooner than later. Violence against the elves is a very real possibility, one she's trying to circumvent as they speak.
Her expression changes, however, at Herian's last words. Though she blinks at the ground several times, Sina then lifts her gaze to meet the other woman's, searching.
"Thank you."

[dashing]

"Replacing a site of such pain with the tranquility of nature is..."

She inhales, exhales, a somewhat dramatic rise and fall that might be well suited to more humours exaggeration, but Herian's jaw flexes and she looks down at the floor for a moment. Talking is not her gift. Being easy and cordial are no longer at her command, and its dubious as to how much they ever were. It is easier to fill the space with things that don't matter, and perhaps it was that which helped her in the past.

"In my heart, I feel it is what the people of Kirkwall need, but in practice..." I fear it is not what they will accept, although she lets herself trail off, not eager to pour salt into wounds already open. For Sina, at least, she can allow that courtesy.

And forests can be fucked up, but she's not going to touch that, right now.

[eolasemah]

This is actually quite surprising to hear from Herian, and Sina finds her guard lowering as she watches the woman in growing interest. She... likes it? This person who has disapproved of more or less everything Sina says or does... likes the forest?

Sina narrows her eyes slightly, thoughtfully. "Will you help them to understand?" she asks, tilting her head. "There is only so much anyone is willing to hear from me." Pointed ears, face tattoos, being the person who grew a magic forest out of nothing, it's a turnoff for some people.

[dashing]

Herian exhales, a breath of dry amusement, eyebrows raising very slightly. "With my extensive gifts of diplomacy?"

She is not entirely lacking awareness that her methods, her severity, do little to endear herself to people, that at times her sternness undercuts that which she holds dear; people allow the personal to colour the politics.

"Those who dislike us most severely are likely confined to separate spheres. As a Loyalist, I may have some chance of persuasion." May being the key word, there, because she clearly has some concerns about her capacity in this regard. "I will make the attempt. I cannot guarantee it will be effective."

[eolasemah]

For the first time since their exchange began, Sina quirks a small smile. They may not be friends, but at least they can work together. "With the gifts you have that I do not," she gently replies. Sina may be the more diplomatic of the two, but people are quite a bit more likely to take the word of a human-passing Circle mage over that of a Dalish elf.

[dashing]

There's a long pause, and she nods. There was little to consider, really. This was as much a duty as anything, even if it was— unorthodox and uncomfortable.

"Very well. I will do my utmost - of that you have my word."

Which may not mean much. She's not sure of the Dalish grasp of honour and promises.