faderift | 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?

Threaded | Flat

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.

[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.

[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?

[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.]

[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?

[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.

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.

2

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

4

1

4

2

4. THE DUNGEONS woooo