faderift | (no subject)

WHO: Gavin and OPEN
WHAT: After returning to the Mire, Gavin goes around delivering any mail that had arrived at Skyhold for people.
WHEN: Now
WHERE: Fallow Mire
NOTES: There's probably going to be some shippy shit with him and Maxwell sorry not sorry

Open.

Gavin has two satchels slung over his shoulder, full of mail, humming as he walked through the camp. For the letters whose recipients he knew by name, he simply went directly to them with a smile and a wave, to hand them their post. It wasn't until they'd all gotten their letters that Gavin started looking through the ones with unfamiliar names.

He frowned - because reading was hard - and had to spend several minutes mouthing out each name, or asking someone else to read it for him, before calling out for the person in question and just sort of hoping they, or someone that knew them, would hear him.

For Maxwell.

"Maxwell! Got something for you," Gavin called as he jogged up to the man, grinning from ear to ear as he pulled out the scroll. The seal had already been broken - by Leliana's spies, of course - but they'd done a pretty good job of putting it back together.

"Letter came for you, at Skyhold."

For Varric.

Of the two satchels, one, in its entirety, was for Varric. So he left the dwarf for last, and went to find him once the rest of the deliveries were finished, before holding the entire bag out to him.

"Here, you ah - you got a lot of mail. They asked me to bring it back for you, from Skyhold."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Well, I appreciate it anyway," He said, offering her a lopsided smile, before blinking at the question. It took him a half second of thought, before he said: "Ah! Actually, yes. One moment--"

He opened up one of the satchels and snatched out a bunch of the letters, fishing through them. A couple of them he put aside, back in the satchel, and then he held out the rest. "Ah - these, if you don't mind. I'd really appreciate it."

It's a surprising number, in fact, and Christine wonders how he was given the job if he could read so few names.

"You can remember all this if I say them only once?" she asks, quickly flipping through them and seeing names from all over southern Thedas.

"I can sort of read them, I just don't know how to pronounce them," he said, flushing a little darker. He really was probably the worst pick for postman.

"I remember the face of pretty much everyone I meet, though, so after I deliver stuff to them once, I'll remember."

"All right," she says, sensing his embarrassment. Being a practical person, she would prefer if someone more able to call out names was chosen, but it's not like she has a vested interest, having no mail herself.

"We have Pierre Trillaud, Aiden Hooper, Roberta Landon, Lucia Ribaldi..." and on and on she goes, pronouncing each name for him. Really, the hardest ones are usually the Orlesian ones and she has the advantage there. If anyone from the Anderfels joins the Inquisition, she may have trouble, just because she's never really heard any examples.

In reality, he wasn't so much chosen as the one of the three of them who had grabbed the mail bags first, and made off with them. But that was definitely the same thing.

He listened intently as she read them off, nodding with each one, and making sure to look at their names as she read them. Once she was done, he held out his hands to take them back.

"Thanks. You don't happen to know any of them, do you?"

Christine hands them back with a faint smile, glad to be of help.

"Roberta is a soldier. She has nut brown hair and blue eyes. Perhaps in her early forties?" It's so hard to tell age with Fereldens. They all look a little rough around the edges, like they've never touched beauty cream before. Her gaze shifts around the camp before she gives a delicate shrug.

"Most likely out on patrol. I do not know any others, I am afraid."

He put them back in the sack and gave her a helpless smile.

"That's alright, you've been a huge help already, I really appreciate it." The helpless smile widened slightly. "It's always nice to get a chance to appreciate something beautiful in the Mire, too. Creators know that it's hard to find, here. You've given my eyes a second wind."

It takes her a moment to register the compliment, only because it's wholly unexpected. She never thought an elf would see anything in a human to compliment. And while there were flirty little encounters in the Tower, they were rare, because the Templars discouraged any kind of romantic relationship between mages of the opposite sex. That would just end up with children they had to find a place for and notes made to watch them for magic. What an inconvenience for them.

"I-- well, that is, ah, you're welcome." She isn't quite flustered, merely caught off guard and unsure if that's the right thing to say. "I'm more concerned with being available to others as a healer, but any little bit helps in this place, yes?"

Her stuttered response just makes his smile flicker wider, and let him relax a bit. Good. Not entirely as buttoned up as she seemed at first.

"Healer, you say? That I can definitely agree with - Creators know I find myself in need of one, basically every other day." There's a little bit of a tease in there, though he means it honestly. He really did manage to get himself hurt all the time. But he acknowledged that there might be a second meaning with a slight twinkle in his eye. "I'll thank you now, in advance, so you don't think me ungrateful when you are forced to save my miserable life."

"Ah, one of those," she says, thinking either accident prone or daredevil. "You make quite a lot of work for healers, don't you? I will keep my eye on you." Because she suspects he'll be limping around, cradling his arm, or any number of things.

"I like to keep them occupied," He admitted brightly. "Or they like to keep me from dying. Or both. You know how it goes."

He packs the letters back up and grins wide at her. "I should probably get back to my duties, but feel free to say hi, while you're watching me suspiciously."

"I wouldn't wish to distract you by addressing you. What if you trip and twist your ankle? Then I'll have work to do." She lets out a delicate sniff, and one would be hard pressed to tell whether or not she's joking.

"You could always just bat your eyelashes in the direction of my ankle and watch it heal itself to impress you," he teased with a lopsided smirk.

"And here I thought elf anatomy wasn't so different from human anatomy. How you have proven my studies false!" Okay, now she is joking.

"I have it on excellent authority that beauty heals all wounds," Gavin replied easily, and then pretended to pause.

"Or was that time...? Time heals all wounds... Nope, must be beauty. That makes far more sense."

"Yet I am the healer here, and I can say with confidence that it is the former. Sometimes time is the only thing that can be prescribed." And now she goes back to winding bandages. "One would think you are buttering me up so I will not yell at you the next time you injure yourself doing something foolish."

At that he grinned. "Oh, one would be very accurate. I find it's always in my best interest to butter up the healers, considering how often I end up there. But it's rare that I find that so easy."

He laughed, and then bowed.

"However, I will leave you to your work, m'lady."