( closed ) your heart's a mess

[dashing]

WHO: Herian Amsel & Cosima Niehaus.
WHAT: Herian heroically comes to Cosima's defence, Cosima is not thrilled.
WHEN: early this month, i thiiiink
WHERE: a tavern in Kirkwall
NOTES: some brief(ish) brawly violence, nothing else as yet, I'll update as necessary.

( Herian is not beside herself with delight concerning the curfew imposed on rifters, or the tensions members of the Inquisition encounter when they walk the streets of Kirkwall. It is reminiscent of too many terrible things, but it seemed so many of them had endured so much that was terrible that it all began to run together; what might have once been distinct ribbons of colour, each worthy of attention and note and detail now just becoming a murky blur of so many ink brushes dipped into water.

She is weary, but so many of them are. It is no excuse not to hold herself to the highest standard, and tha t is what she reminds herself constantly, including the moment she enters the tavern to meet Cosima.

And here's the scene: Cosima, attempting diplomacy, in the presence of three imposing figures whose manners would appear rather less than friendly. Herian is in the habit of watchfulness, and observes as she draws closer, listening. They have realised that Cosima is a rifter, it seems, and were intent on voicing their displeasure with this fact - at rifters, at the Inquisition, at demons, at mages. All manner of ire, and Herian arrives just as one of the men lurches closer, neatly inserting herself between Cosima and the brigands menacing her, as one leans down to his boot - dagger. )

The Inquisition is tasked with protecting Thedas from the perils it now faces, and we both of us are sworn to their service. Threatening a member of the Inquisition and one who works to aid Kirkwall, the Free Marches and the countries beyond is unwise indeed, ser. Perhaps you'd sooner reconsider.

( Her voice is cool, not quite reaching into sharpness. There is a steadyness to it that is in some ways perhaps more alarming than a show of temper.

Suffice to say they do not reconsider. The first lunges forward, a knife in hand, and Herian moves with his momentum, twisting him off course and slamming his wrist down onto the wooden bartop, trapping it there with her hand before driving her opposite elbow into his face, striking a pressure point just below his nose. He buckles, from pain rather than unconsciousness. There are still his two friends to consider—

What a good start to the evening. )

Comments

[youwonscience]

Please.

[It's been a long evening, and they've lingered sufficiently for Cosima not to feel like they're turning tail and running.

Plus more wine.]

Let's go home.

[Whether or not either of them considers it home is a discussion for another day, or possibly never; here it's shorthand for 'the place we don't have to be in public anymore.']

[dashing]

( She takes only a moment to get the wine, pay more coin, and then they are free to leave. The night air is cool, but at least Herian's skin always runs warm, and she tries not to let worry cause hesitation as she holds the door open for Cosima and offers her arm.

It's fine. A slightly turbulent evening, but now they can relax, and hide away from the world for a while. )