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WHO: Cyril and OPEN
WHAT: The first time that Cyril has opened his stall for a long time but he seems distracted rather than engaging others the way he usually does.
WHEN: A week or so after Sina's death
WHERE: The Gallows - Specifically Cyril's stall at the Gallows.
NOTES: This might eventually result in some discussions of grief and parental death. Close CR might get him to talk a bit about what happened in Pel's nightmare too so all of those warnings may apply.

It has been nearly a month since Cyril has been at his stall. First business with the Inquisition had pulled him away, then a shortage of supplies, then Sina's death and everything surrounding it. Finally, though, he has some wares out to be bought by any who are interested.

There are some basic traps, spring loaded traps, and then, as always, his puzzle boxes. The different items are organized carefully on the table and displayed for any who happen by. Usually, Cyril would be playing with one of the boxes to show how they work, or engaging with those who paused at the stall.

Now, though, he focuses on a sketch he's working on. When someone comes by he smiles at them, and offers pleasant conversation, but rather than being his usually vibrant self he seems a bit withdrawn. He sits by the stall and works on drawing the shape of a woman's face.

If anyone manages to catch what he's working on, they may notice that she resembles him. Or rather, that he resembles her. He had inherited most of his looks from her after all.

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The woman is very beautiful. After a moment, Colin sits down by Cyril to watch.

"You're very talented," he says admiringly.

Cyril looks up and gives Colin a smile. "Thank you, I try."

He sets aside the drawing for now to focus on Colin. "Not as useful as cooking, I'm afraid."

It occurs rather depressingly to Colin that that's the only thing people know about him. His fault, no doubt, as secretive as he has been. His gaze drops.

"It looks like magic, to me," he muses. "The way people can make shape after shape and in the end it looks like something real when it's just paper and charcoal."

Cyril presses his lips together as Colin describes the woman in the drawing as 'real.'

"I'm not really sure I'm doing that," he admits after a moment. Then he gives Colin a little awkward smile and rubs his neck.

"She's more a memory than anything."

Colin catches the thing, and spends a moment considering before replying.

"Your mother?"

"Supposedly," Cyril replies after a moment. "I trust Pel's memories more than my own..."

He trails off and realizes that he's making very little sense to someone like Colin. "She passed away when I was six. I barely remember anything about her. Then, recently, my cousin Pel needed help and I found myself in her dreams. Her nightmares, really. I hadn't realized how much she thought about my mother before.

I barely spare any thought for her because I barely knew her, but Pel's older. She can remember more."

I found myself in her dreams doesn't even strike Colin as weird at first, until he remembered he's supposed to think the Fade is wall-to-wall demons and decent folk don't go there even when they do. But, whatever. Clearly this is a man he doesn't have to play to like that. It's reassuring.

"And you wish you thought more about her?" he asks quietly.

"I'm not sure," Cyril said after a moment. "Is it weird to have no strong opinion about your own mother? I'm drawing her because I feel like I should try to remember her, but I mostly feel..." He shrugs. Unable to explain the strange sense of apathy he has on the topic.

"You are probably going to think I'm mad after all of this, aren't you?" he teased just a bit, offering Colin another small smile. "A terrible second impression."

Colin returns the small smile and shakes his head. "We have only our own lives to go by. My mother meant a lot to me because she was my best friend. She taught me how to cook. We shared things. I was twelve when she died. I have those memories. You don't have any of that. Why should you feel the same things I feel?"

He nods at that, accepting the answer.

"I'm sorry you lost someone important to you."

Colin opens his mouth and then looks rather taken aback by the kind response. His gaze darts away.

"Everyone lost people during the Blight," he responds lightly. "What I mean is no, I don't think you're mad. But thank you for sharing that with me."

"You as well," Cyril replies with a gentle expression.

"I think I'd rather draw people I know, though. I could try to draw you, if you'd like?"

Colin looks uncomfortable for a moment, battling between his desire not to be drawn and his desire not to offend a new friend, but ultimately decides he's come here to break out of his pocket of semi-comfortable isolation and try new things.

"I guess. Sure."

Cyril raises his brow a bit. "Or, if you'd rather, you could try to draw me," he offers, always wanting to give people an out to feeling comfortable. "Even a stick figure it practice."

"Better not," Colin says, brow furrowing. "I know my strengths. Art isn't one. Go ahead and draw me, it's all right."

Cyril nods. "Thank you," he says and then focuses a bit on Colin so that he can sketch him. The sketch is a bit sloppy, but at least it's complimentary. He seems to think that Colin is rather beautiful and it shows in the drawing.

Colin tries not to pay attention, tries not to focus on Cyril's focus. It all seems very much like any twitch, any shift will be measured and captured, any flaw perceived, but he has no reason to think Cyril would be so cruel as to make him into some manner of caricature. When he does dare a glance, he is immediately relieved, then intrigued. Is that what he looks like to other people? It looks almost like a different man, someone sweeter and gentler than Colin feels most of the time.

"That's...that's really..." He trails off, still studying the picture. "Good," he finishes belatedly.

Cyril smiles at the response. "Thank you," he says. He mostly draws to create diagrams and doing it now to capture the likeness of a friend is pleasing. Certainly more than trying to hold onto the memory of what his mother looked like had been.

"It helps when I have a friendly subject." He is careful to leave anything more than platonic consideration in his voice. Colin had already shut down his flirting once, so he didn't make his words drip with innuendo.

Colin hasn't had a friend in a long time, and quietly snorts at the self-deprecation.

"Obviously, but. You're talented." There is discomfort in being drawn, but not offense, not with this man. Friendship. This is what he wanted, coming to the Inquisition and taking this position. "I meant to ask, what do your tattoos mean? I've never seen the like before."

"These?" he gestures to the crown of his face. "Well, when I got them they marked me as a full member of my Clan. An adult. This design shows respect for Mythal, the mother goddess."

Then, after a moment, "Was I the first Dalish elf you'd met?"

It takes Colin a second to pull up Dalish from the completely mad amount of information the Circle crammed into his brain. He does remember, but realizes just in time that he shouldn't have that knowledge at all. He would never have learned it if he hadn't gone to the Circle. His parents didn't even let him play with elves when he was a boy, so they wouldn't have mentioned it. He puts on a puzzled expression.

"I don't know what that means. Are you a religious order?"

"No," Cyril replies gently. "Well, not exactly. Dalish means an elf who refused slavery and alienages. They wander in Clan in the woods. If you've heard stories it's usually that we're all savage and evil...

All lies of course. Well, no more true than how people are savage and evil."

That is not the answer they have in textbooks in the Circle, and it makes Colin grin unexpectedly.

"Really? I like that a lot. No slavery, no...segregate housing, people just being people. I mean, not even all humans are anything close to equal."

"I've noticed that about you lot. You'd think you could learn to tend to your own..."

"You'd have to care, first." Colin shrugs. "Nobody cares about people not their own. Shapes of ears, magic, anything like that is just an excuse. It makes it easier, but not having them doesn't make it impossible."