y'all a bunch of nerds

[tactical_alert]

WHO: Malcolm Reed, Leonard Church, all y'all
WHAT: Monthly catchall things
WHEN: Over the month
WHERE: Around Kirkwall
NOTES: n/a for now

Church has moved in with Christine, and it's...kind of weird. Not bad weird, mind; he rather likes the domesticity in ways he hadn't expected. A sure bed every single night that is also actually a bed. Living with a little yappy dog that wouldn't even qualify for a football. He's used to coming home to the same place every day, had done so in the Gulch, had done so outside of it. Still...it's...odd.

So he can be found, when not on duty, around Lowtown on occasion, at the cheap shops set up. He hasn't had a whole lot of reason to spend his money until now, for the little things. Bits of cobbled together furniture, or a few plates, or a heavier blanket. Winter's on its way, even if they're not in the mountains.

He can also be seen studying, a few books in his arms, some from the Inquisition, some spied or asked about from town. Even taking notes. He doesn't think he'll break any new ground on the rifts or the shards, but better to dig in himself. If they don't have any non-Venatori experts on the subject, then they'll just have to make themselves experts. (The pros of dating a healer: any time he finds the ache in his hand to be more than a little distracting, the pain can be soothed back down to a tolerable level.)

(It's getting slowly worse over time.)

(He hasn't said as much to Christine.)

Though the excitement over the impromptu duel at the docks with Christine's would-be suitor has dropped significantly, he's still a known figure to those who were present for it. He's gotten passably proficient with a sword, but a rapier? Well, it can't hurt to learn more than one way to injure someone, right? So when he isn't practicing with his sword--god forbid he ever give the crossbow another try in a much more crowded area--then he's borrowed a rapier to try and teach himself the basics.


Malcolm has been in something of a sour mood, though to those who know him less than well, it's hard to tell he's any different from normal. As a Seeker, he's more than used to being the stern bearer of bad news, to grit his teeth and take on weight. Between Jonas, Cade, the perversion of the memorial garden, the Venatori mage that got away for the sake of saving others, not to mention whatever correspondence he finds himself in charge of, as well as more, he's found that he's been more on the downswing than he's been in quite some time. He doesn't believe in luck, but he does feel he's due for a turnaround here.

Still, he spends time while in the city where he needs and on occasion where he isn't needed. The stables and kennels are a normal haunt for him, taking Charles out for a trot outside the bounds of street and wall, or making sure Milady gets her training and play and socialization in. If he isn't caring for his horse and making sure the stable hands they've hired are taking their job with the utmost seriousness, then he's softened around his poodle companion, a little grooming, a little fetching.

There are several evenings as the sun goes down that he spends by the docks, taking in the sea breeze and the squawk of seagulls while he signs off on some shipments, chats with a few scouts that seek him out specifically to report on how people in the city are reacting, or even brings documents with him to peruse while seated on a crate or barrel. Never too close to the water's edge, though.

In the very early mornings, he tries to keep as regimented a schedule as possible, every single day. Pray, first thing. A light nibble, usually plain, something simple like oatmeal. A workout to hone and strengthen the muscles, the senses, and then training on dummies or sparring with another early riser. He doesn't like being interrupted with other duties at this hour, but if it's something he must attend to himself, he will. And then a quick wash up before he finally attends to the day proper as the city rouses itself. It's a very familiar pattern to anyone who had seen him keep such a schedule in Skyhold.

(And occasionally finds him shirtless and glistening, for those who might care to notice such a thing.)

Comments

[motherfucking_ghost]

"You don't have to go out of your way to..." But he trails off, reaching for the jar of preserves.

The little comforts of home all came from somewhere, and they came from people working harder with less for the same result. And it's a good thing Church isn't a picky eater by any means. Sure, his palate has become a little more refined since being (re)introduced to eating, but food is food, damn it.

"You're good to me." With a smooch to the cheek and passing her the jar. It's only the truth.

[aceso]

"Of course I am. You are a good man. Why would I not be?" She spoons some preserves into her sauce and stirs it around before giving it a taste for sweetness. It's perfect the way it is, so she sets the jar aside and checks on the underside of the toast. In her mind, there's no reason for her not to add in things that Church would like to their meal. She likes to keep him happy and he works hard enough that some sweets aren't going to make him unhealthy.

"Have you learned anything interesting regarding the rifts so far, or are you wanting to put it all out of your mind for tonight? All of those books means you must have been studying very hard."

[motherfucking_ghost]

"Hnnnnnothing that stands out to me so far. It's still kind of a new area of research, I guess, so that doesn't surprise me." How he longs for the ease and instant gratification of internet news. "I also dunno if I'm the person who should really be doing this, cuz I'm way more likely to just...miss something entirely."

[aceso]

Christine flips the bread and turns back towards him, giving him a curious look. "Why do you say that?" When she walked in the door he had a whole spread of books laying before him, so perhaps it's the amount of information that makes it more likely for things to slip through the cracks. Or perhaps he's putting himself down again; becoming the ogre of the story who can barely turn the pages with his big, meaty hands because he can't see himself any other way.

[motherfucking_ghost]

"I mean, I'm a soldier? I do fighty things. More than...hours of reading and note taking and shit. I mean yeah, I've done before, like...other stuff, nothing so intense. Nothing that's got such a direct impact on me and people like me? We've got actual scientists and researchers to do this stuff, so." Shrug. Everything's fine! He hasn't given up the research yet anyway.

[aceso]

"But you should have a hand in it, because it directly affects you too." And she did not mean to pun just there when she mentioned a hand. "After all, I am a healer and a researcher, but I fight when I must. You need not think so little of your research skills just because it is not what you are used to." This is good for him, and she wants to encourage him as much as she can. Besides, understanding the rifts is vital to the shardbearers' survival. He doesn't know how she stares at his glowing hand in the dark after he's fallen asleep, and the worry that constantly flows through her mind like a river. He may be keeping the extent of his pain away from her, but she knows what everybody says about the shards: that they're killing the people who bear them. A way has to be found to stop this. Her healing spells can only go so far.

"You will find answers. All of you working on this. I know you can." They must. Her eyes flicker downwards to that green glow. "How does your hand feel tonight?"