faderift | [OPEN] you don't have to catch on, lay it out and be gone

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[OPEN] you don't have to catch on, lay it out and be gone

WHO: Simon Ashlock
WHAT: Catchall post.
WHEN: Throughout Kingsway.
WHERE: Various places.
NOTES: Starters for Cade, Kattrin and Myr, and open prompts for everyone else!

CADE

Simon should probably have come to visit sooner. Either after the first night of Callum's visit, or after the bar fight he'd heard rumors of, or...really, at any point before now, but better later-than-ideal than never. He's heard snippets through the grapevine about how Cade's doing, but it's still no substitute for checking in on him in person.

Only as he's being shown up to Cade's room at the inn does he wonder if he should have brought some kind of peace offering, or small token, or...something. He's never quite sure how Cade's going to feel about seeing him.

KATTRIN

Even without the intervention of the spirits, Kattrin's herbal salve had done wonders for Simon's shoulder strain, and he hasn't needed anything further in the way of healing since then--though Simon could be missing three quarters of his limbs and still insist on trying to walk it off, so this does not say a great deal. On the rare occasions when their paths have intersected since, he's never had time for more than a friendly greeting, but today, he'd found himself scraping the bottom of the liniment jar and he has the afternoon free to do something about that.

It takes some searching to find her, but another healer eventually recalls where she'd last seen Kattrin and directs Simon that way (after offering to help him herself, which he politely declines.) He sets off, scanning the ground for the fennec along the way.

MYR

It has somehow not occurred to Simon that Myr has a very good reason to want to stay Gallows-side and avoid too much wandering around by the ferry dock. It's only on the day they've arranged to begin Phase One of their card-sharking plan, when he's about to send a crystal message and suggest they meet up, that he realizes his friend might perhaps like some accompaniment to the city proper.

The mage quarters aren't foreign to him, exactly--he can remember patrolling them as a fresh recruit, years ago. But he hasn't had reason to set foot in them since his return to Kirkwall with the Inquisition, and his memories of them are not ones he would like to dredge up. He hastens to follow the trail of glyphs and knock on Myr's door.

*****

I. BATHS

Simon is a man of few creature comforts, and he has accustomed himself, after long years of communal living, to bathing in cold water. Privacy has always been a rarer and more precious commodity than a hot bath.

Since Cade moved out, though, he's had more of that than he knows what to do with, and today has been a long day of extensive physical exertion. Maybe he can deal with the evening hot water rush tonight, if he comes in near the tail end of it when people will be mostly done.

Of course, if everyone else has that same idea, then he's no better off. But he'll just have to make do.

II. FOREST

How much longer the forest is going to be here, Simon doesn't know. He's well aware of the talks in progress about cutting it down, and more than a little dismayed about them even if he shouldn't be, but...he's found himself too often in opposition to his fellow templars and Chantry liaisons lately. He's got to pick his battles, and he can't afford for this to be one.

The best he can do is enjoy the little bit of nature within the city walls while he can, and maybe if people see a templar basking in the shade of an apple tree along its borders and eating one just tinged with the beauty of approaching autumn, they'll see that it doesn't have to be an act of blasphemy.

III. LIBRARY

Guarding one prisoner is easier than guarding two, and Simon appreciates this. As tasks go, he doesn't particularly mind standing around while Vedici conducts his research, not least because Simon's pretty sure by now that the man's not going to try anything stupid. There's always the possibility that he's simply trying to lull them all into complacency, thus the need for continued templar presence, and Simon can't let himself get too distracted--

--but still, as the time wears on, there's only so much meditative prayer and light daydreaming he can do. He casts a longing eye toward the nearest bookshelf, wishing he could get away with keeping one eye on a book and one eye on the prisoner.

He can't, he knows, even if nobody's looking, but he reaches discreetly for one nonetheless just to peek inside the cover and see what it's about.

IV. WILDCARD

Make my day.

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Kattrin had been doing some washing in the communal baths. It was the best place really and had some of the cleanest waters. Her little fennec was asleep nearby and she was wearing just a pair of loose pants and a loose top with no sleeves, arm holes low. Technically it was more an undershirt but it worked for this and she hardly minded that people would see the edges of scars on her shoulders nor the edges of more...personal body parts.

She noticed the fennec lift his head though and looked over her shoulder to see Simon there. She offered him a nod and smile then returned her gaze to her work.

"I imagine you must be out of what I gave you if you come now." She was aware of how much had been in the little pot. If he'd used it correctly this would be the time.

Looking at a piece of cloth, she studied it and found it to be clean and went to wring the water out of it before setting it aside. "Sit. I can look when I am done with this."

Atticus will admit to some mild curiosity about what, exactly, the Inquisition has done with his former apprentice in the intervening time since their scrap in the dungeons. He won't admit to anything more than that--either because he doesn't feel it, or because he hasn't finished taking inventory yet of all the risks that their separation poses to himself, and to his family.

His mandatory work for the Inquisition, at least, provides him with an outlet for that subdued frustration; better to focus on a task single-mindedly than let himself contemplate the likely reality that he has made A Mistake.

There is a cryptography text open on the table in front of him, a pen in his left hand, and a few notes written into the margins of a copy of a Venatori missive. It's not engaging enough work to distract him from the fact that Simon is, in fact, slacking on his job. Atticus pauses in his note taking to look at Simon over the rim of his glasses.

"Reading anything interesting?" he asks almost conversationally. yeah he saw you.

Simon, by contrast, hasn't had time to change out of his armor, and he's just about as fully-covered as it's possible to be without a helmet. He tilts his head with some confusion at the scene before him, and then promptly and guiltily averts his eyes like any properly-brought-up Chantry boy at the first glimpse of sideboob. The scars don't quite have time to register.

"I don't think that's where you're supposed to--" He pauses, mid-correction, realizing that he can't really explain why anyone should be forbidden to do laundry in the baths. The linens can't be any dirtier than the average warm body after a hard day's work.

"Never mind. I just finished it up this morning, yes. It really does work miracles. If you're still interested, I thought maybe we could keep on with the terms of our agreement? Or I could do something else that needs doing, whatever you like." But he'd been looking forward to the promise of more cultural exchange.

He's been keeping tabs on Atticus, but he startles guiltily nonetheless. Of course the prisoner's nearby enough to see; Simon hadn't really expected it to go unnoticed by him, but at least he can bank on the probability that nobody will care if Atticus mentions it, either.

"I'm not reading anything at all," he says, "because that would be neglecting my duty. I'm skimming it." And it's boring. "I could ask you the same question, if you're paying attention to anything I'm doing."

Edited 2017-09-01 13:19 (UTC)

"This saves water." She was very used to bathing and cleaning clothes at the same time. It helped to use less water and was very efficient. Plus it was a good practice to have honestly. One never knew when there might be a shortage of water. Growing up Avvar taught her to survive and this went into that.

"You can ask me questions first, if you like," she offered as she shifted what she was doing so she could twist her hair back to keep it out of her way. Perhaps she should tie... Ah but this was fine.

"I can ask things of you after I finish this." It seemed a fair enough trade anyway.

"I could ask you the same question, if you're paying attention to anything I'm doing."

In response, Atticus affords him a thin smile. "Then we appear to be at a--" what was right word to use here? Ah yes, "--moral impasse, don't we?"

He keeps his eyes on Simon a moment longer, considering. Then, "Why don't we have a conversation, like civilized people?" he suggests. "I would invite you to sit, but I think you might encounter some difficulties." He gestures to Simon's full plate mail.

He raises an eyebrow, snapping the book shut again. "I've a feeling the higher-ups would rather I stick with reading on the job, if I must make a dangerously poor decision today."

He would like to think, after all, that he is not the sort of mouse who would accept such a potentially fraught invitation from a cat.

Edited 2017-09-01 15:17 (UTC)

"Looking for some light reading material?"

Comes the dry response of what might be a vaguely familiar voice, and yes, poor Simon, when you turn Norrington is going to be about three feet behind you with one eyebrow raised. He looks pointedly at the book in Simon's hand, then back at the prisoner, then back at Simon again.

"Is that a new book on 'How to keep a Venatori in place by reading Chantry rhetoric', or you are planning on using that as a blunt weapon if he tries to escape?" Is his drawled question.

Simon is not an easily-startled man when he has his guard up, but when his attention is divided between prisoner and book, watching out behind him is not a priority. He flinches.

It figures, he supposes. Not a damn thing has happened in the past three hours of excruciatingly dull silence, but the second he puts himself in a compromising position, the Knight-Commander decides to take a leisurely stroll through the library.

"I expect he'd find that a bit difficult when shackled to the desk, ser," he replies, "but it's true that we ought to be prepared for any eventuality."

Norrington managed not to smirk when the younger Templar winced - honestly it was unbecoming to snicker when you were a superior officer. He folds his hands behind his back, glancing over at the Venatori working away, before looking back at Ashlock.

"Quite true. You might want to keep the book on hand just in case, then." He stepped forward, his expression going from wry to contemplative. "What do they have him working on today? Anything useful?"

"That it does." He's not accustomed to worrying about that much himself, having spent the majority of his life around large bodies of water, but nonetheless, it is a practical skill to have.

"Well--all right, that'll work, for sure." He leans against the stone wall of the chamber, about as comfortable a position as he can get himself into when fully-armored, and ponders where exactly to start.

"What's a hold-beast? I came across the term in a book I was reading, but the writer didn't really explain it. You'd think the name would be self-explanatory, I guess, but that doesn't describe what one's for, or what it does..."

Edited 2017-09-02 10:11 (UTC)

"Cryptography," Atticus supplies without looking up from whatever it is he is transcribing. He has to examine the parchment at a slight angle, due to the crack in the lens of his spectacles.

"Well if I am to be the object of your undivided attention for the next--let's see, two and a half hours at minimum," Atticus replies, and tilts his head at Simon like one might at a pupil who is being smart, "I think a bit of conversation is unavoidable."

He holds up his shackled hands. Mildly, he suggests, "What danger am I to you now?"

He's almost right. There are very few people around, but there is one who is was also hoping for solitude. Ellana has her arms folded on the edge of the bath pool, legs lazily kicking through the water behind her, though without splashing to the surface. Her clothes and towel are folded up next to her arms, and her staff lies within reach too. The people at the other end are doing their best to ignore her, and she them.

When Simon enters, it's on her side of the bath and she looks up with a sigh.

"I'm not getting out yet." That's what she's told each human who's given her a dirty look for being an elf in their bathwater. She's said it as a simple fact, without challenge or aggression. They want to get aggressive and she'll shapeshift into a honey badger and bite the shit out of them. Their choice.

Saoirse has never been completely sure, one way or another, how she felt about the forest that now occupied the sight of Kirkwall's former Chantry. Mostly, she wished to avoid inciting any violence or ending in the forest being burned to the ground. She had also wished to help the people of Kirkwall understand they were not here to take anything away from them, especially when it came to decision involving their city and especially true of the most... sensitive topics.

Still she cannot deny enjoying what it offered. These days have been difficult as she's worked undercover to discover what might have happened to the missing elves of the city and as a result, she wears her hardships on her face and body in the form of bruises. However this missing persons case ends, she knows they must do something for those too that are not missing and suffering through such hardships. She fears though that forcing that topic might just incite even more violence...

It's difficult all around which is why she is here in the forest today. In her arms is a small basket filled with shiny apples, herbs and flowers that she plans to take to the alienage. It was a nice change of pace from the days and days spent working as a servant which helps her find the urge to sing, enjoying the sunlight and the cool sea breeze breaking over the city from the harbor. She doesn't really expect to find anyone, which is why when she rounds a tree there is a look of surprise on her bruised features before smiling slightly as Saoirse ends her song.

Hello, ser. It's been awhile since we last spoke," she says with a slight bow of her head in greeting. "Are taking time to enjoy the day as well?"

"A hold-beast is an animal that ties a hold to the gods. It is revered and allowed to live a life of its own. Trackers will keep watch so a hold may know the state of the beast at all times for it is their kin. Should a hold-beast fall ill and die it is an ill omen."

With a twist of some cloth she added it to the clean pile then turned her back to him for a moment so she could pull some more that had been soaking onto her lap. It meant she was soaked but she didn't care much. The chill was refreshing compared to how terribly warm the lowlands were compared to the mountains she grew up in. Doing so shows more of the edges of her scars but she didn't pay attention to that as she returned to her work.

"It is important to know that a hold-beast is no pet though. To suggest so would insult a hold."

Well, at least it's not the size of crowd he'd pessimistically anticipated. The other end of the pool is just a bit too crowded for his taste, especially when Simon counts as more like a person-and-a-half at his size, but this end should be perfectly usable if the current occupant doesn't mind.

He's not sure he can bank on that, though. Ever so slightly self-conscious, he secures the towel a little tighter around his waist. "Well, nobody said you had to. It's meant for more than one person at a time."

He hears Saoirse long before he sees her, and her voice is just familiar enough to prompt a stirring of memory, more a sense of deja vu than anything concrete. He doesn't remember that exact hymn from his days in the Gallows, but he remembers following the trailing sound of her voice on his patrols, a rare bright part of a dark job in a darker place. It's the first time anything around here has recalled a positive memory of his time in Kirkwall.

He's turned to greet her as he hears her approach, but the faint smile on his face drops instantly off it when he sees the condition of hers. He's been blissfully oblivious, as he can afford to be, about the plight of the missing elves and what's being done to help them, and he doesn't have any idea what could have left those bruises.

"I was, yes, but--Maker's breath, are you all right?"

He nods along with the explanation, wondering how much work it entails to track a free-roaming beast at all time--though the alternative, keeping it penned up, seems like the antithesis of everything the Avvar would hold dear.

"Is the fennec a bit like a personal hold-beast for you, then?" he asks. Perhaps not, since it does seem to follow her everywhere, but it had seemed initially like a logical comparison.

His eyes have remained politely and modestly elsewhere for most of this discussion, but he forgets himself and looks back up at her again as he asks, and his gaze lands on the just-visible scarring. Taken aback, he studies it. If it extends upward that far, how much of it must there be?

She gave a pause to consider that, never having done so before. Her personal hold-beast? Looking to the fennec who had gone back to sleeping, she considered how he sort of fulfilled all the right qualities of one.

"He..." She saw him looking at her. It took her a moment to realize what he was probably seeing. Shifting her shirt, she revealed more of her back to him to show the scars covered nearly everywhere back there. The burn scars had to only be months old as well. Definitely not old.

"A fire. I landed in one."

Her responding smile is a little sad, though whether it's for her own sake or being sad at his naivete is up for debate.

"Yes they have." Her voice is low, and she inclines her head slightly towards those at the other end of the pool. There probably would have been greater protest had she not had her staff with her.

"But since you're fine with it, come on in. I won't look." To assure him of that, she turns her head away, looking at the architecture of the room instead.

"It's quite pretty, isn't it?"

The voice comes from...above Simon, up in the tree tops. Perhaps Simon has lost his mind, or the blood magic that created the trees gave them some manner of ability to speak??

Or: There is a Dalish climbing the tree.

Luckily for Simon, it's the latter, which is promptly revealed when Beleth jumps down from said tree. She quickly straightens, and pulls any wrinkles out of her clothes, turning to look at Simon with a careful eye. Apparently he passes the inspection, because he's then given a polite nod.

"You are--were--Cade's roommate, weren't you?"

"It's perfectly avoidable, as it should be." He looks away, eyes facing straight again, according to protocol (except for the book still in his hand, but now it would feel like an odd show of weakness to put it back.)

"Even if you are that eager to put off snitching on your Venatori pals, you might try to pretend otherwise."

Simon hadn't been certain enough of the particulars to answer with confidence anyway, though Atticus hasn't actually offered any particulars. "If I recall correctly, ser, he's decoding some communications we've intercepted."

He's not sure what to do with the fact that he feels ever so slightly uncomfortable at the rudeness of talking about Atticus as if he's not there. It's not a courtesy he should want to be extending to a magister, of all people.

He cranes his head sharply back at the first startling question, and then just as quickly back when she leaps down to land in front of him. He probably wouldn't have put it past himself to hear a voice that wasn't there, but he is glad, if slightly bemused, to see that it's an elf he doesn't know.

"Until just recently, I was," he says, all the more confused and a little concerned into the bargain. He is not aware of any Dalish elves Cade may be in the habit of keeping company with, though there are many things about Cade that he doesn't know. "Is he all right?"

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[OPEN] you don't have to catch on, lay it out and be gone

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