faderift | (no subject)

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by he smiles at them, and offers pleasant conversation, but rather than being his usually vibrant self he seems a bit withdrawn.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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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."

"Then let's help more people learn how to care," Cyril pointed out. "The Inquisition has mages, elves, dwarves, Tal Vashoth, and people of all walks of life. And we tend and care for one another, don't we?"

Colin looks at him, clearly surprised. Pleasantly so, at least. There's something special about someone who says things like that, as if kindness and affection alone could change the world. Colin can't imagine it. So much of his life has been spent in isolation, where all good things stayed neatly penned up by walls. But here he sits, a human merchant, talking to a Dalish elf under the open sky by a repurposed Circle tower. Something changed.

"The Inquisition really is special," he agrees, quietly amazed. "It's...difficult, looking at it, and trying to trust it's really different from literally everything else in the world. Or maybe it's easy to get swept up in, and forget you still have to be careful."

Cyril pressed his lips together in thought. "One always has to be careful, my friend. This is still Thedas, after all. I just... I want to believe that together we can make Thedas greater than it is."

"That's...not as comforting a statement as you might intend. What makes the Inquisition better than the rest of the world?"

Cyril considers that for a moment, then tries to rephrase. "It's not so much that the rest of the world has lost it's hope, as much as... We need good people to come together to stand against the chaos. To say 'no more' when faced with those who would harm the less powerful. Any organization could do it, but I joined the Inquisition because it was one of the ones I thought were trying."

"...You're...really ambitious, you know that. But it's a good story to tell. If it gets heard, maybe other people will want it. I didn't realize I wanted it till I heard it. I don't know if I can believe it can happen, but I guess that's not the point, is it?"