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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."

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Mail call? That definitely gets Korrin's attention. She knows full well that there will be something for her; with parents, a grandmother and various members of her company all wanting updates, it's inevitable. So she waves Gavin over with a smile that's become rather rare in the mire.

"It's about time. I need something to focus on other than how much I hate this place."

Gavin spotted Korrin when she waved, and smiled as he clambered up the boulder towards her. "Should try hopping on the next supply run," He suggested, tongue slipping between his lips as he concentrated on fishing through his bag to find her letter.

"Ah, here we go. Ko-r-r-rin," He read, squinting at it, before handing it to her. "At least, I think that's right. Better check."

Maxwell looked up, brows furrowing slightly as he looked up from the pile of wood he was cutting. "A letter?" He ducked his head, rubbing his forehead against his sleeve - an ineffectual movement as both were equally damp - and propped the ax against stump.

"From who?"

Who would write him.

He looked down at the scroll, trying to place the crest on the wax seal, but in truth he knew basically nothing about human heraldry, so gave up with an apologetic look and a shrug, before handing it to Maxwell.

"No idea, they just gave it to me to give to you. I take it you don't get mail often?"

Edited 2015-11-26 18:43 (UTC)

Doublechecking the name on the envelope, Korrin nods. "Unless there's another Korrin Ataash running around in the Inquisition, I think it's safe to say that's mine. And hm, maybe I'll do that. Variety is better than constant exposure to this mess. What about you, did you get anything?"

He shook his head as he put the rest of the letters back into place, leaning over curiously, as if half expecting for her to open and read the letter to him where he stood.

"No, but I never do. And if I did, it's not like I would be able to read them very well anyway." He did write to Peter, sometimes, but those letters were more elaborate drawings, than anything else.

Christine is milling around camp, and only gives Gavin a brief glance when he comes through with the mail. No one would be writing a letter to her, so she never waits excitedly for the mail. In fact, she's a little confused when he approaches her, but when he asks what the name written is, it all becomes clear.

"Let's see... Melisande Beauchamp." It's easy for Christine because it's an Orlesian name. "Do you know her?"

Gavin looked back down at the letter, his ears drooping a bit. "No, no idea. Thank you, though. I'll make sure to find her, somehow." He looks back up at the woman, who he has just realised he was incredibly rude to, and blushes faintly.

"Ah-- I'm Gavin, by the way. Thanks for ah... the help. And the not yelling at me for being rude."

"Christine," she replies, and gestures to herself where she has just been sitting winding bandages. "You have not interrupted me doing anything vital. It was not rude." Maybe an Orlesian noble would think an elf daring to address them was rude, but Christine grew up in the Circle with elves, and in a small village before that. She knows of alienages and the sort, but not much else. Her family certainly never had elven servants.

"Are there any more I can read for you?"

"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.

No mail is good mail, in his opinion. It means he's doing something right, and he certainly didn't expect to hear his pseudonym to be called.

But it earns his attention and he glances up from his book, frowning.

The letter in Gavin's hand contains a wax seal on it, the imprint of a krakken on it. Naturally, Leliana's people probably did have a look at it first, but there's no helping that.

Twisted Fate tucks his book under his arm and holds out his hand. "For yours truly? How interesting," he says, emulating his air of arrogance, but he's not feeling particularly confident in the moment.

The krakken was different, and drew his attention, but Gavin still handed it over easily, taking a good look at the recipient.

"Twisted Fate?" He repeated with curiosity to the other elf. "What kind of name is that meant to be?" He didn't point out that it wasn't Dalish - that was obvious - but he was still curious.

The same question, as always. He lets out a small laugh, tipping his hat back as he takes the letter from Gavin.

"The kind I gave myself," Fate says, looking over the letter cautiously. "We have someone who calls himself the Iron Bull, you know. Though I guess mine's a bit more dramatic, isn't it?"

"I didn't exactly leave anyone who would bother..." Maxwell mused, reaching for it. He turned it over, looked down, and stopped. Dead. "Or I would have thought."

The Trevean crest.

There were only three people it could have reasonably come from.

Gavin's ears pricked with curiousity, walking around so that he could lean over Maxwell's should to get a look at whatever he was looking at, but it was just the same wax seal that he hadn't recognized before. (And what was personal space, or privacy, anyway?)

"Well? Do you know who it is?"

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?"

"Home."

It was one word, but it was heavier than a copy of the full canticles, his gaze fixed on the scroll, as if he might be able to read as it was. Then, suddenly, he held it back out.

"Nothing worth reading, I'm sure."

Gavin wasn't really sure what to make of that - whether or not he was being offered the scroll, or if it was just meant as a meaningful gesture - so he hesitated, his hand just sort of floating near it. He couldn't help the dull, sympathetic thump of pain in his chest.

"You're not going to read it?" He asked, carefully. He knew that Maxwell and his family didn't get along, that Maxwell had essentially left everything behind to come, but...

Korrin isn't bothered by his curiosity, moving aside to let him sit if he wants to take a break. "I thought Peter was teaching you? I can try to help when we're not on assignment, if you want."

She won't push it, though, then opens the seal to scan the message. "Ah, good, my company's in Ferelden again. Not anywhere close, but still. At least for a while, they're not that far away if we need them."

Edited 2015-11-26 23:41 (UTC)

If hovered between them, Maxwell not wanting it, Gavin not taking it, for a long moment... then it fell, awkwardly, hanging loosely at his side as he shook his head.

"Likely just confirmation. Making sure I know my place now."

"Maxwell..." His ears drooped as his voice trailed off. He didn't care, at all, what Maxwell's family thought of him - thought he was well shot of them, actually, but he hated to see Maxwell like that. He finally did reach out and take the scroll, cracking open the seal once more. Sure, he wouldn't be able to read much of it, but--

"Dear Maxwell," He pretended to read aloud,

"You were totally right - your father is a complete ass and ignoramous and we've been much too cruel to you our entire lives and by the way I have sent a recipe for cheesecake, you should make your elf friend some."

He could try to make him laugh, at least.

He looked over, mouth twitching slightly into a small smile. Not one he felt, but in appreciation for the effort.

"Strawberry cheesecake?" he asked softly.

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