faderift | LET'S DRINK, DRINK, THIS TOWN IS SO GREAT (open)

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LET'S DRINK, DRINK, THIS TOWN IS SO GREAT (open)

WHO: Kitty
WHAT: Catch-all open log for those who want to thread!
WHEN: Oh, any time either before or after the Mire.
WHERE: Around Skyhold
NOTES: There are hideous sweaters in here.

1. Ugly not-Christmas sweaters.
[ There are three things, Kitty has learned, that the Inquisition likes. First: thick socks, heavy cloaks, and warm clothing of all sorts. Second is loud shouting matches over the fate of mages - which, truth be told, Kitty likes to hear; this is something that needs to be figured out, and shouting is good for a person, in her opinion. Third is drinking.

Today she's seeing to the first love of the Inquisition. A month ago, she'd had a few days off from the tavern, and so she'd taken her pony out exploring. She'd found a little freeholder far out from Skyhold, a widow with a few sheep and a spinning wheel who wasn't willing to venture out to sell her wares. Kitty had traded provisions for the promise of future work, and so a few days she'd gone out and picked up the fruits of the woman's labors: a stack of lumpy, ugly, undyed, but very warm pullovers.

And Khalena Jonos might not have been born merchant caste, but she bloody well knows how to bargain when it comes down o it. She takes over a table out in the courtyard, snuggled down into her own (smaller) jumper, making a grand show of looking warm and cozy and comfortable next to her stack of woolen goods. ]

2. Getting turnt.
[ She also has regular work in the tavern, of course - seeing to love-of-the-Inquisition-number-three. She's no doubt a familiar presence here: a small, bustling, cheerful figure, standing on a stool so she can see over the bar to take orders, teasing the regulars and greeting newcomers.

In moments when she's not interacting with others, though, she listens. Intently. She positions herself near conversations that interest her, and finds a task to busy her: wiping down the counter, polishing mugs, tending to the stew that's always burbling above the fire. And she listens, as much as she can, and she commits everything to memory.

Still - she does her job. As soon as someone calls for her attention, she breaks away from the conversation she's listening to - no matter how interested she is - and calls out, cheerily: ]

I'll be right there! [ And then - ] What do you need?

3. Bookssssssssssss
[ Of course, when Kitty isn't at work, she's trying to learn. She can often be found skulking about the libraries, reading vociferously, anything she can get her hands on. She gets lost in it, too, going on for hours on end. That's why she's perched in an odd place - sitting on the table and stretching her book up against the wall so that the last of the cold, late-afternoon sunlight will fall on it and illuminate its surface. She wants to eke out a few last minutes of reading before night falls. ]

4. Every step you take etc.
[ And a good portion of her day, also, is given over to spying. On whom? On just about everyone. Her favorite targets are mage leaders and Inquisition bigwigs and Tevinters, but anyone who seems the least bit interesting, she'll follow around. And if they bump into her as she's following them around, find her out, well - she acts natural, hoisting the sack she's carrying up on her back and cheerily saying before they can ask any questions - ]

Oh, thank goodness. This is too much for me to carry - I don't suppose you could help me out?

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Fenris was by now a frequent face to be seen around the tavern. It reminded him of Kirkwall, of one of the few times in his life he was genuinely happy, and he found himself drawn to it again. That and the drink was plentiful - he also managed to find many willing to buy that 'odd elf' a drink. He wasn't above taking advantage when he had to.

But he was also happy to pay his own way. "Kitty," he said with the closest thing to a smile she would get out of him. "Another mug of your weak ale." The ale here was truly bad, but it would do.

"Weak!" she cried - but she did so with a broad grin, and a laugh. His face was only slightly less grim than usual, but she answered that less-grim-than-normalness with a sunny expression in return. Then she turned to the tapped cask of ale, getting one of the cleaner mugs for him.

(Kitty knew enough about Fenris, now, to know a little of his story. Not the whole of it. But an escaped slave, an escaped warrior-slave, lyrium-marked, someone who'd defied Tevinter and fought with enough ferocity that they hadn't touched him yet, someone who endured the horrible treatment that he endured - Kitty was damn well going to give him a clean mug. And she was damn well going to pour it completely full, not skimp in the least.)

"That's slander. Base slander. You know we're the best tavern in all of Skyhold." And she craned her head around to look at him, grinning in anticipation of the inevitable objection - that they were, of course, the only tavern in Skyhold.

Edited 2015-11-25 18:25 (UTC)

"Weak," Fenris agreed, with the closest he would ever get to a smile. He didn't mind this place, after all.

He did appreciate the fact that at least he got a clean vessel, and a full mug of ale.

"This is the only tavern in Skyhold," he pointed out dutifully. "Though I'm sure that any other wouldn't have the same charm and ambiance as this one." He could live without the terrible singing though.

"Emphasis on charm," Kitty responded, flashing him a broad, cheery grin, and doing a fake flip of her hair. It was a harmless sort of mockery of fake flirting, a chipper simulacrum of coquettishness. She dropped it almost immediately, leaning on the bar to give him a bit more attention - but still with good, earnest, cheery energy.

"Is there anything you'd like us to get in for you, by the way? We're moving towards actually being able to order specific things, rather than just getting whatever we can get our hands on. And I'd like you to have something you like."

[The Fallow Mire was...something, that was for sure. Jamie is more than glad to be back from it for the moment, and even happier to be somewhere that doesn't smell of damp and dead things. Perhaps there's other things that could stand doing - like a third wash of his kilt, even if it doesn't smell like bog anymore - but closing the rift like he did is still at the front of his mind, and a distraction seems very much like it's in order.

So he lifts his hand to get her attention, shard and all. When she responds, he gives her a brief, slightly crooked-appearing smile.]

I'll not say no to an ale when you get a chance. No hurry, though. It's good to be somewhere that's actually dry.

[ Her eyes fall immediately on that shard. She knows exactly what it means. She hasn't had much of a chance yet to speak with the Rifters - she's not wanted to seem overly curious about them, not when she's trying to seem like an ordinary barmaid, and they've been rather occupied with other things. As has she, for that matter. But upon being confronted with this one, she feels a burble of curiosity, a ferocious desire to know: where is he from? what was his life like there? what has he seen? Who is he?

But her curiosity bubbles up and then is pushed aside at once. If she's going to find something out, it'll come after a pint (or a few pints) of ale, when he's already comfortable and chatty. No good peppering him with questions right now. And he'll get chattier, too, if she seems incurious. Perfectly innocuous. ]

Well, you're welcome to that spot as long as you're drinking.

[ She flashes a grin at him, and turns to step up on her stepstool to tap the cask. ]

Are you back from the Mire, or are you having problems with damp in your room?

Then I'll just have to do that then, won't I?

[It's said with a smile, however - something that's very much a response to her earlier grin. Even though he has no notion who she is, she already seems much friendlier than the other dwarf he's seen working behind the bar. Right now, a friendly face is more than welcome, and he's more than happy to be friendly in return.]

Ah, I've not really found a room that's not been taken so far. Makes the damp in it a bit less of a problem. No, you were right the first time. 'Mire' is an excellent word for it, by the way. I'd not recommend it unless you're fond of swamps.

[He pauses briefly, then adds in one other possibly important thing. Or at least important as far he's concerned. Whether or not she'll think the same, he has no idea.]

And I'm Jamie, by the way. Figure if I'm going to be here awhile it'll make it easier to know who I am.

Kitty. Nice to meet you, Jaime.

[ She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, and then turns to the cask to pour him a bit of ale. One of the Rifters they've trusted to go out and fix problems, then...She wonders about that. Did they have to prove themselves, the Rifters? Or were they given free rein? Probably the former. Most of the people here would sooner hit themselves on their heads with rocks than trust the unfamiliar and new. ]

I suppose you'd like a spot of stew to go with the ale, too. It's good today. Where are you from, anyway? Your accent's curious.

Nice to meet you as well, Kitty.

[And she's right, the thought of stew is an appealing one. Appealing enough, in fact, that he perks up when she mentions some being available, shoulders squaring ever so slightly as he sits up a little straighter on the stool.]

A spot of stew? Yes, please! [For a second it seems as though he's going to say something more about that part of things, but her question gets him to hesitate for a second or two, caught in a moment where it seems like he wants to say something but doesn't wind up saying anything at all. After that passes, however, he winds up shrugging before reaching up and scratching at the back of his end.]

Everyone seems to think I'm from this place called Starkhaven, but I'm not. I'm from Scotland. I've not been there for a few years, mind, so maybe that's why my accent's a bit curious. Can't say as I've noticed it, myself. I'm guessing you're not from Starkhaven either, though.

I'm not, no. Though at least I've heard of Starkhaven. Scotland is new.

[ Her smile is pleasant, and just a little bit puzzled, as she puts the ale down in front of him. Scotland, and the word is...Well. A bit more prosaic than you'd expect from a place that exists in an entirely different world, really. You would think that on a different world, they'd have enchanting names, names that speak to the exotic or to the magic that brought these people here, a shimmering thrilling sort of name...Scotland sounds like some old island off the coast of Ferelden. ]

Where is it? [ It pays to play dumb, a bit, to lure people into giving more information. If she pretends she hasn't noticed that he's a Rifter, if she seems not particularly bright, then he might chat a bit more. ]

[At one point he would've said the shard would've marked him as a stranger for sure, but having met Sina, he's aware of the fact that there's at least one person around here with a shard in them that didn't actually fall through the rift. But he would've thought for sure the strange name would've clued her in that he wasn't from around here if the kilt hadn't. The fact that neither one of them seems to have done so throws him a bit, leaving him grasping for words as he tries to figure out what he's going to say.

It, ah. It's to the north. And, er...

[That's not going to work, he can tell already - and he pulls a face before settling back into his seat with an audible sigh.]

Look, I can't really explain it without explaining a whole lot of other things, too, and I've no idea if you'd want to hear it or not. But I'm not from around here at all. I fell through one of those rifts a few months ago and I've been here ever since. And I know that means people think I'm a demon, but I'm not. I'll not pop up behind you and try and turn you into ribbons or trick you into making deals or do whatever else it is those demons do.

[For a moment, he almost wonders if he was, indeed, being followed. Kitty does react rather naturally, though, so he simply raises a brow before deciding that it's probably an innocent run-in.

So he draws up his usual smirk and holds out his arms.]

Be happy to give a hand. Good time for us to talk anyway, don't you agree?

Absolutely. How kind of you, by the way. Thanks - I really am grateful.

[ She slings the back cheerily into his hands. It clanks faintly - she grabbed it at the last second, and so her guess is as good as his as to what it contains. Nails, it sounds like? Probably nails.

But the best way to keep someone from asking questions is get them chatting. So she chirps at him: ]

So tell me about yourself.

I have my moments.

[He is curious when he holds the bag. What in the world would she even need this for? Fate raises a brow for a moment, wondering.

He can always ask later.]

Ah, but there's so much to say about myself. Should I say that my favorite color is red, or something more interesting than that?

Something more important, I think.

[ She smiles up at him, a positive picture of innocence and sweetness. There are things you can take advantage of when you're a dwarf girl, and one of the best of these is just how innocuous you look. Lots of dwarf women - especially the warriors, those who end up in the Carta, those who come topside and chafe at their treatment - work hard to look tough and be tough. Kitty knows how hard and bright her determination is. She doesn't need any respect or awe to make it any more so.

So she's perfectly content looking harmless. She blinks up at him. ]

I mean, I'd like to get to know you. So I'd love to know something that matters to you. I mean - unless the fact that you like red is important to understanding you.

[She does seem awfully unassuming, doesn't she? A small, adorable, sweet-looking dwarf woman indeed. Yet, that can always be suspicious.

Right now, though, he seems convinced of her sweet innocence.]

That's a rare sentence indeed, wanting to get to know the elf who calls himself Twisted Fate. [He says his own name in the most dramatic way possible.]

Something that matters to me, hm? [He seems thoughtful.] That's not a very long list. I like playing games and performing tricks. It might help if you ask me something more specific, though.

[ She smiles at him, a little puzzled at his dramatic pronouncement of his own name. Is it supposed to be frightening? Is she supposed to be frightened away from him? Or is he just a bit of a ham? ]

Well. Okay. What are your goals? Generally, you know. In life.

[A bit of a ham, most likely.]

Goals? Mmm, I want a lot of money. A nice pair of boots. More Orlesian silks. And definitely more money. I like that part. Preferably from a nobleman who could stand to lose it.

[It gets chilly on the surface, and it feels like it's getting colder every day. So...gosh but those woolen clothes look warm and comfortable. Rachette hovers for only a moment before coming up and feeling the material. Who cares what it looks like--one learns very quickly that there's no such thing as being picky in Dust Town.]

[ Kitty's smile flickers only the slightest bit when she sees this potential customer. Of course she knows that brand. How could she not? Her parents, good loyal stolid exemplars of the servant caste, had always taught her not to even look at the casteless. They'd acted like it was their duty to just reject those rejected by the Stone, but Kitty's quite sure they just enjoyed having someone to lord their positions over. They liked showing off that they were better than someone else. It had been foul.

(Maybe. Or maybe they'd just been doing their duty. Kitty's never wholly sure.)

So she hesitates, just a little. And then the smile redoubles. She stands up - a gesture of respect, because to hell with all the expectations of her caste; she's damn well going to stand up and show respect to a casteless. (The gesture matters a little less, maybe, considering that she's considered just as low now as anyone born casteless - but still.) And she says - ]

I'm trading for those, if you're interested. They're ridiculously warm. Do you have anything to trade away?

[She doesn't expect much. She doesn't expect anything, in fact. A casteless and a former criminal (and former soldier, but who's going to know or care about THAT part), and most importantly, poor.

Well. No, that isn't true. The surface Carta did try to be as lucrative as those down below. And she saw her own share of coin. She didn't have much now, but it's still something. That this dwarf stands has her instinctively reaching for a blade, but her hand never makes it to a handle before she realizes nothing is going to happen. Just...standing for this potential customer.

That's...strange. People on the surface are so strange. But it's nice? Not to be spit on. Rachette lowers her hand, trying not to look embarrassed about the potentially violent gesture.]

I might have some armor to trade. [Maybe. Possibly. Even if it's mismatched, it's hers, and it's done its job in keeping her safe. But surely she could get more here? Would they let her? She's still not sure about this Inquisition and how it works.] How cold does it get here?

[ To Kitty's credit, she doesn't react when the Casteless goes for her weapon. Or maybe to her discredit. She's not sure whether it's self-control, some deeper understanding that she didn't mean harm or just insufficiently honed instincts, but she stands there and blinks instead of moving very far away when the woman makes the first, abortive gesture of attack. ]

Um -

[ She clears her throat and tries to stop ruminating over that when the woman speaks. ]

Really quite cold. I don't know what it'll be like up in the mountains in winter - I've only lived a bit lower down, on the plains - but almost certainly it'll get brutally cold. When did you come topside?

[She makes no apologies otherwise for her movement. Shouldn't be so jumpy around her own kind. (Or...she should especially be jumpy, maybe.)] A year or so? I was a little farther north and a little less in the mountains.

...What would you take for a sweater? I have-- [She makes a quick inventory of what's on her person. Not a whole lot she'd give up. But she muses at her gloves. Supposedly she could get something free of charge that's a basic armor replacement, just for being in the Inquisition, but she's still not sure she trusts that promise.] These gloves, perhaps? A sturdy enough leather, not much for warmth but still offers a bit of protection.

[ The gloves aren't of much use to Kitty, truth be told. They are sturdy, fairly formidable, but when she fights she fights without anything on her hands. She needs to feel the blade in her hand to strike with precision, to throw true. Leather offers protection, to be sure, but it also gets in the way of feeling in tune with her knives.

But she still looks at them, peering at the construction, reaching out to examine the stitching. In this weather, she could bargain ruthlessly for these sweaters. She could wring people absolutely dry, because she knows just how desperate they are to be warm. She could get three pairs of gloves like that for one of these, if she was really cutthroat about it. But -

Well. Kitty decided long ago not to be cutthroat. Especially not to a Casteless. ]

Good work on those. Good stitching. What sort of leather is that - nugskin?

[She has precious little coin on her, most of it confiscated by the Inquisition when disbanding the Carta branch she was in, but she'd almost rather pay for a sweater than give up armor she'd gathered herself. But she'll respect a dwarven merchant. Who isn't miserable to one of her kind.]

Double layer. A bit of reduced flexibility in the fingers, but still decent protection. Not much for warmth, but despite the scuffs, they'll be true to whoever wears them. They served me well enough.

[Korrin, on her way out of the rotunda after using the ravens to send a couple of letters she'd written in the tavern, pauses to regard Kitty thoughtfully. She could have sworn she'd seen the dwarf around a fair bit today, and not just in the Herald's Rest. But it might just be her mind playing tricks on her, and in any case, she never refuses a reasonable request for help. So she nods and holds out her hands to take Kitty's burden.]

Of course, Kitty. What is it and where to?

Oh, it's -

[ She has no idea. Truthfully. She'd grabbed the bag at the last moment, for a cover. So her answer is simply - ]

Odds and ends.

[ Which sounds plausible. ]

For over at the Herald's Rest. Thanks, though - this is too kind.

[ And she deposits the sack in her hands. It clanks metallically. ]

[Odds and ends definitely sounds plausible to Korrin, and it wasn't a serious inquiry, anyway. Whatever the clanking sound, she'll help carry it over. So she adjusts sack appropriately, the Vashoth mage gets going, though careful to ensure that her pace doesn't leave behind her much smaller companion.]

It's no problem, this isn't very heavy to me. And...thanks for listening over the crystal, the other day. I wasn't expecting that.

[Granted, it was as much a debate as venting, but the fact that Kitty heard her out at all when she didn't have to get her points.]

[ That startles her a bit. She glances over to the woman, and blinks, and shifts a little uncomfortably. Then she gives a little smile, and laughs, and tries to make it sound merry instead of confused. ]

You're welcome. Though I didn't expect thanks for that. If anything, I expected what I usually hear from people, which is stop being so nosy and bossy.

[Korrin gives an amused snort at that.]

That's what I get too, sometimes. But I'd rather people have a spine than tell me what they think I want to hear because I'm a 'scary qunari'. I know I have strong opinions and that's never going to change, but sometimes I need to be reminded that there are other perspectives.

[The pirate queen is an easily recognizable fixture in the tavern these days, and she nods to the young lady.]

Something good and dwarven, if you would, kitten.

[ Kitten isn't a nickname she much cares for. Kitty is a name she chose for herself, something she likes. It's fierce. Feminine, but fierce, and energetic, and tough. A kitten is a creature that can't even care for itself, that's weak and toddling and uncoordinated and harmless. A kitten can't use its claws. Kitty can.

That's half of what Kitty thinks. The other half is: she really is just so ridiculously pretty. ]

Something dwarven, coming up.

[ She grins, because she'll hardly actually complain. ]

And good, as well, you said? Because we also have some proper rotgut, if you'd be keen on that.

[Having had a good friend with a penchant for cats, Isabela knows all too well how sharp kitten claws can be when trying to attack your ankle through a boot.

But that's beside the point. There are drinks to be had!]

Proper rotgut you say? Dare I ask what kind?

[ Kitty laughs. They don't have much behind the bar, truthfully - they're still trying to build their stores. But they do have some strong alcohol - things scrounged from traders and merchants and volunteers who'd brought things with them to trade for food and shelter. So they have: ]

Lichen ale. Fair warning, it's...very strong.

I've probably had worse, but I'll give it a try.

[She plunks down a few extra coppers.]

Are you sure?

[ She raises her eyebrows, but...a copper's a copper, and if it gets the woman impossibly drunk, that could potentially be good. After all, drunker people are chattier people. ]

Because you might be sorry tomorrow morning.

Cade's outburst upon arrival had garnered him a stint in the cooler, which was to say, a couple confused Inquisition soldiers had hauled him up from his knees and down to the dungeon just to keep him from hurting anyone-- it seemed this included himself.
He hadn't been treated badly, and if anything his confinement was as self-inflicted as it was anyone else's idea. Being in a dark, quiet place made his lyrium headaches more bearable and his mood more even. It was almost like home, except he couldn't leave whenever he chose. Perhaps it was for the best, until he could learn to cope with the way life worked now.

Kitty, of course, wants to know more about the prisoners they have, and this one in particular. She also doesn't want to be obvious about it. She's a dwarf, so she's not supposed to have too much care for mages or templars except as potential trading partners for shipments of lyrium. To pry too much would mean being a bit too honest about her true thoughts - her political thoughts - and she'd sooner no one know about just how deeply she cares right now.

So she's skulking about the cells. The problem is that she's a little too focused on getting a look at the prisoner without him being able to get a look at her - and so her foot hits a rock, sends it skittering across the ground and into his cell.

Damn it.

Although the prisoner was deep in thought, the small sound broke his reverie. Cade looked down at the rock, picked it up, and then followed its path with his eyes, landing a bit confusedly on Kitty. He wasn't sure if he knew her from somewhere; he'd seen a lot of dwarves, and people could be hard to place by the tops of their heads.

"Um - "

She blinked at him, uncertain what to say. Hi, sorry, don't worry about me, I'm just spying on you? Or Hello, you're the mad templar, how's your madness treating you? Both seemed a bit overly blunt for her purposes. She could claim, of course, to simply be passing through, not intending anything, but...Well. Honestly, she rather wanted to speak with him.

So, instead, she said to him, "Hello." And then with a little wave - "Are you doing all right?"

Cade stared at her for a moment longer. "..hello," he answered hoarsely, "...ah...." He glanced around the cell. It was all right, for a cell, he supposed. "...yes."
He set the rock back down on the ground and glanced around, a bit uncomfortably, as he waited for her to state her purpose.

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LET'S DRINK, DRINK, THIS TOWN IS SO GREAT (open)

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2 (To drink, drink, to no big surprise)

BUT WHAT WORD RHYMES WITH BURIED ALIVE

WHAT WORDS RHYME WITH BURIED ALIVE

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4. THE DUNGEONS woooo

WHOOO

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