faderift | And I can't navigate the stars like my father

Entry tags:

And I can't navigate the stars like my father

WHO: Araceli Bonaventura; open
WHAT: Coping, coping, absolutely coping with life at present
WHEN: Timestamp for Haring
WHERE: Kirkwall and the Wounded Coast
NOTES: References to Sina's death, will update with others. Actionspam is good, I'll switch up to follow.

Kirkwall; the docks
For a change, there isn't work to be done at the docks. Or not all the time.

Or even most of the time.

No, most of it is Araceli with her boots off, trousers rolled up to the knees or skirts tucked back so her feet can kick back and forth water cold enough that it'd sting if she weren't used to it. A flask is never far from her hand (the fox isn't far either, an unhappy pacing creature ready to bark in alarm with his fur puffed up twice his usual size) that she might share if you ask nicely. You might not want it, why would she need a sailor's ration right now?

Most days there's a stack of letters getting smaller as the days go on, all with the same name on them being slipped into the waters to be carried to wherever they're meant to go. It was always time to get rid of them but as she holds up one - fumbles it, numb fingers from the rum or the cold or both - she stops, looks it, sniffs away her smile at it.

"Two years. More than that. Time to go where he went too."

The Gallows;
Life carries on the way life always carries on. When Martel died and word came she was the one to pick through his room for things people shouldn't get their hands on, with Sina she doesn't have to do that but she does have actual work to do that might swallow her if she's lucky. There are always shipping reports and forecasts, any strange sightings even if someone might have been drunk or just seeing things compared against anything the books here know about the sea, progress on what the Inquisition actually has that she can pass on elsewhere.

A volume on spirits is tucked away somewhere in the stack, light reading. Everyone reads strange things when they're grieving and wondering where dead people go when it isn't their own don't they.

The lute is in the office for now though and the afternoons find the door closed most of the way so she doesn't disturb anyone working nearby while she plays and sings because you can't let the bard skills go rusty, and it's one of the better ways of working through it.

The Wounded Coast;
Some days and Araceli doesn't want to be in Kirkwall. Wants to be away from the bustle of the city, from a job she's not putting her all into presently if she's entirely honest about it (given the circumstances-- she could be blamed, someone could point fingers but Sina is dead and she's not about to turn her heart to stone to make another person happy) so she makes for the stabels to saddle up her nuggalope.

The Wounded Coast isn't particularly special she can ride there without someone being offended by a great overgrown nug thundering along the paths, down to the water. The black fox goes scampering over the shingle to hunt down anything that he can scavenge or pick a fight with, the nuggalope follows sedately to the patches of grass.

Out here though she can kick off her clothes, weigh them down with her boots and most of her weapons - one or two stay strapped to her, this is Thedas and she's not foolish - to swim. Or to take a deep breath and submerge herself for a worryingly long time if someone strolls past at the wrong moment but sometimes the only place to be yourself is where you're from, and this is as close as she'll get.

wildcard
Pick your poison if you want something different and I'll roll with it!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Carefully setting the lute down by her desk, Araceli slides off so she's not propped against it with a moment's pause to smoothe the front of her coat out. "When we were in Skyhold I'd go up to the roof to play, here I have a door all to myself but they're good halls if you strip them back." A lot of things are good when stripped back, the old repurposed. "Thank you though, it's been a while since I practiced last."

Or did it the way she once did, for hours at a time until her fingers ached then refused to move the way she wanted them to but there's no time quite like fresh grief to revisit old habits.

"Ah, is this the notes I left?" When did she leave those? "I should have come in person but I wanted someone to have them. The rift over the sea-- well if you have any questions I can clear the desk." Norrington had made what a more charitable Araceli might call a suggestion to request access to all of Inessa's research when they'd been discussing red lyrium, it had taken too much not to ask if he'd struck his head.

Inessa shakes her head, not offended by Araceli sending the notes instead of dropping by. "It's quite alright, I always meant to come by and thank you for them in person at some point, when matters were less hectic. As it happens, I do know of a rifter woman who wishes to compile information on Thedas to share with the newly-arrived. She'll be quite interested in the variety of perspectives, I'm certain." Whatever her concerns about Adalia personally, Inessa approves and supports the notion of educating those in desperate need of context.

She nods at mention of the rift over the sea, quite interested in that phenomenon. Her other work aside, it hasn't been forgotten and is one more thing on her to-study list. "That would be helpful, thank you. I've not heard of many rifts appearing over bodies of water, as opposed to land, and was curious as to any notable differences felt by shardbearers or simply noticed by those close enough. My notes on such are lamentably scarce and mostly confined to Crestwood."

"Señora Adalia? We've spoken, she should have her own copy to do with as she will." Having your own notes to mark up is helpful compared to tracking down another set, and finding someone so interested when she'd handed hers off once before only to see nothing done with them had lifted her spirits somewhat. That someone else arrives, sees a new world, sees the same challenges--

Time has passed, the world moved on, but she thinks about Marcel again, the things they'd tried to do together and wherever he is now she hopes that he's well, that he still smiles.

Inessa's one of the few people smaller than Araceli herself so the stacks are shifted to the floor where they won't be knocked over later in the day, a drawer opened to pull out her own rough copies of the notes she'd passed on to Madame de Cedoux of her time in the island. "Crestwood isn't somewhere I'm familiar with, regrettably, though I was there for the arrival in the Fallow Mire. What I recall was that I felt the pain in my hand even when I stood on the shore after landing; the demons fought the red lyrium serpents and kraken. That's the first time I've seen the demons fighting something that isn't us."

"Yes, Adalia. I'll see to it than she does. It's another excuse to see her dragon, as well." Inessa doesn't have a rifter's perspective but that's why it's all the more important to support those who do. She'll make a mental note to do that sooner than later, while there's still a lull between big missions.

She considers all that's said, nodding thoughtfully. "A rare happenstance, but I've seen it before. If a local creature is large and aggressive enough, it will draw their attention...at least for a time. A mixed blessing, when the creature involved is as tainted as those. How far away where you from the rift, when you stood on shore? It you feel the pain further away than you would with a land-bound rift?"

"While we're both of us here in an office, I do have concerns regarding her dragon. I know she isn't alone in having one, Beleth has her own, still it raises an issue." Dalish and rifters, neither group loved or trusted far even within the wider Inquisition and Araceli isn't ignorant of the history of dragons. Warier of it in Kirkwall. Her tone is mild; just two project heads speaking yet she'd be remiss to ignore it. "What one does reflects on us all, for good or ill.'

Elves, mages, Wardens - take your pick Inessa.

Having to cast her mind back to then is throwing herself into the thick of it, the water churned to a furious boil, what was red lyrium, what was blood, but she names a figure that fits her estimates comfortably enough. An apology for the error. (Memory is imperfect.) "There could be my connection to the sea to account for, the sea very much is my blood but normally I would be by the rift or only a short distance. A body length at most. Seeing creatures corrupted through no fault of their own didn't help that."

Inessa nods, her expression sympathetic as she commits that number to memory. "...no, I imagine not. They didn't deserve such a fate, but we can take some comfort in the fact that corruption has not spread further." For now, at least. She doesn't have to tell Araceli that it could happen again, certain it's on her mind. "If you encounter other sea rifts, I would be interested in learning if your experience is any different, corrupted sea creatures aside."

The Veil over sea hasn't been as well-studied as that on land, all the more reason to do so when there's the opportunity.

"Would these concerns be related to its rate of growth? At least Beleth's is already miniaturized, I'm told. It will grow no bigger. Adalia's, on the other hand...we could soon run out of room, depending." Friendly or not, an adult-sized dragon in a place built for far smaller creatures is going to be an issues, sooner-or-later. "...I don't envy whoever told the provisional Viscount of its presence, either."

Poor Petrana, her diplomatic skills must be stretched to their limit.

A thought does occur that hadn't at the time or right after, since she knows boats. "We need better lifeboats if we're going to rifts on deep water, even just one or two. Something sturdier." Hauling people in and out or fighting in normal lifeboats isn't something most are likely to be keen on repeating. "I'd be willing to go with someone to study them, to see if anything happens beneath the water too. We only saw above."

How much did they end us missing?

"Size is one concern that comes after the simple fact that they're dragons. In my reading on the history of Tevinter, and of Thedas really, I know that dragons are contentious." To say the least, and she nearly raises a hand to rub at her temples instead thinking better of it, straightening papers on the desk instead. "Rifters have reputations collectively, and whether or not we wish to carry that we do, same as others here can't act alone. Judged, weighed, measured for all those like you. That's my concern: when they see a suspected demon with a dragon she cares for so much. Dalish carry rumours with them too but rifter tall tales I'm rather more intimately familiar with." Araceli has a quiet but firm voice for this throughout, friendly where it can be managed. This isn't official, she says with it, just a note from one here long enough to sit and watch. Corypheus hasn't been mentioned but does she have to when she speaks to a Warden.

Inessa nods solemnly, not about to make light of collective reputations and how easily they can be soiled. As a mage and an elf, she has some experience in that area though at least she's had all her life to grow a thick skin about it. Rifters don't have that luxury. "I would think so, yes. And I would not want to downplay the real danger that can accompany any damage to that collective reputation. The fears of locals as well as native allies must be taken into account, but not allowed to dominate. If nothing else, it's worth reminding them that Corypheus has his own dragon. Having one of our own means that the chances of Kirkwall turning into another Haven are decidedly lower. That answer won't appease everyone, but I doubt such a goal is possible anyway. Calming enough to ensure a panic doesn't happen might be, though."

Slightly doubtful in tone, as this is Kirkwall. They were perilously close to unrest when the forest suddenly appeared. A dragon is on another level entirely. "Madame de Cedoux must have her own ideas on how this will best be handled. She seems a level-headed, talented woman; if there is a means to keep the peace, she will find it."

Tucking a stray strand of hers away, she considers the rest. "A requisition to the quartermaster could take care of the boats; I would offer to do it myself, but I wouldn't know what to ask for. With those available, I'll gladly send anyone from my project who's willing and is a decent swimmer." Probably not her, to her disappointment. But there will likely be some overlap, enough to see this through.

There's a great deal Araceli could say about Anders, about his willingness to shoot diplomacy in the foot along with anything he's associated himself with, how long ago he'd tried the tack with her that rifters would be next to be treated as mages were. Araceli knows that there's every chance one of them could commit some act worthy of such scrutiny but given what happened last he opened his mouth to the crystals-

(There are times the Inquisition is its own worst ally. The thought is never a comfort.)

"If a dragon behaves as it should. Even when we help there are still complaints, upsets, questions, suspicions; I don't say this to discourage or dishearten, only to say it as the one here since Haven, who watched others go, who has made every effort to pass for one of you." She knows her luxuries here, and her mouth pulls down at the corners for a moment. There's Corypheus after all. What if he has two dragons, one from a rift?

"Madame de Cedoux," that lifts her mouth again as she reaches for drinks, the teapot she finally got because not having on might look uncivilised, "is who we need even if too many outside don't see that. We were too long without someone like her."

Tea takes time; water boiled the non-magical way, allows Araceli time to gather her thoughts as she brings it over, pours, but offers Inessa the sugar to sort for herself. (Araceli gives herself away by drinking her teas strong and black, brewed to get the most out of them same as a frozen dockworker does.) "After winter, less risk to volunteers, more chance of getting them. Out on the Wounded Coast there are places it'd be safer to do things and we can sail them there, let you hop out to make observations?"

Inessa doesn't ever mind time taken to make tea; it's worth doing right, and for that she murmurs her thanks, taking it black as well. Sugar is a rare habit with her, and one she'll refrain from for now. "That seems a sound idea. I approve, and agree that it can wait for winter's passing. We have more than enough to keep ourselves occupied until then."

She lets her tea cool a little before taking a sip. "Those who don't see Madame de Cedoux's worth will, in time. Or at least, those whose minds are not utterly closed will realize that Kirkwall itself is a good test of her capabilities, as it is for the Inquisition's in general. For better or worse, we will have an audience in a way that we never did at Skyhold."

Another sip and she raises an eyebrow. "You no longer believe in rifter solidarity, then? You mentioned an attempt to organize, before my time."

There was always sugar at home, but then that's a thief's salary for you. "The last thing we need is someone getting sick from being pitched into the water because they'll end up in there, and most people here aren't used to being in the open sea." That they'd managed the mission with as little calamity as they had is nothing short of miraculous. It doesn't behoove them to sit back saying 'yes, everything went well so why bother worrying'.

Taking a sip of her own, Araceli holds in a sigh, feeling the too-tight smile tug at the corners of her moth. "Not all of them. You're right of course, about the audience. There's a greater degree of scrutiny than we ever faced before with the Inquisition being right there before it can be rumours or talk; when something happens, it happens, and there are plenty of witnesses to bear witness to it." (There are times where she wonders if she gives herself away as more than just a thief but it's two years here, most of them a bard. Perhaps she worries about this for little reason these days.)

Of course, she's asked a question she'd prefer not to have to answer but her expression doesn't change. That same smile that strives for polite if weary given everything that's happened lately. Less sincerity in it than usual. "What is to be gained by separating ourselves? How well does the arm work cut off from the body?" There's an awareness that she's saying this to a Grey Warden, Grey Wardens being indepdent allies rather than full Inquisition members but they're discussing rifters today so this is the only way she can phrase it. "Two years I have been here. Since Haven. Since the start. I believe in the Inquisition. Once...before I knew more about Thedas I thought we should band together as one but that creates too many separations, too many divisions, lines drawn up that people will fight over. We give up parts of ourselves when we become part of a bigger thing; I am Inquisition before I'm a rifter, this is how I see myself. I want this to work. I believe in the work I do here, that I've done here, that I have spent nights awake agonising over. The only way that can be done is to be part of the thing that stands between the people and the darkness that wishes to see the world ended."

The suggestion then as she sips her tea - as she takes a breath, allows her heart to calm itself - that perhaps she finds it selfish to be otherwise in light of information. To be anything else. That it's a mistake a girl would make. An embarrassing one to be learned from.

Listening intently, Inessa nods at the logic presented. Despite being a Grey Warden and therefore always somewhat separate from the Inquisition at large, she can understand what divisions upon divisions can do, how easily a cause can fall apart because of them. She sips at her tea, letting all that sink in and allowing a moment for her own words to form. When she lowers the cup, her expression is largely unchanged but there is some sympathy and growing respect in those large eyes.

"'We give up parts of ourselves'...how very true that is, when joining a larger cause. Many Grey Wardens speak of sacrifice as though we alone invented and bear it, but that's not true. Others suffer in their own ways, for their own causes. And now this cause is ours, too. Didn't the Herald say 'whatever we were before, we are now the Inquisition?'" Her lips quirk in a faint smile, briefly.

"I...can't imagine how these two years must have shaped you, and others cast into this world with no warning. And yet, you have adapted and thrived. You have a valuable perspective, one we should not forget. It must have been said before, previously, but I'll say it again; the Inquisition is fortunate to have you."

To speak of the Herald is to speak of a day after a long journey up through a strange mountain, through snow she'd never seen before, to suspicion (warranted now with hindsight but at the time uncomfortable, chafed at like some green girl) and uncertain friendships. Here are people we can scarcely vouch for that we've never seen, the news had come with all of them, them and their Fade-bright stung hands. The Herald of Andraste is dead, her body is found, the news had come too, right on their heels.

"I only heard of her after, in pieces. It seemed rude to ask too much after her when all the news came together." That's a polite way to say it, her smile behind the rim of her teacup but how do you speak of a dead woman who might have something else, something other, who bore the same hand that so many others do. "We all make choices, align ourselves to a thing, perhaps this is the first time that so many truly see how much larger their part in it is. Whether they want to or not."

You can't make a person see a thing, after all. Much as you might like, and she can't force everyone to go spend a season on a ship where they'd all learn that lesson in their bones.

Setting the cup down, the smile becomes real now, even if tinged by grief because that's life, isn't it? A hint of embarrassment because there are times praise is easily taken, other times you'd rather bat it away if that weren't so impolite. "Thank you, Warden Serra, I try to balance what I might bring from my home with wanting very much to be a part of Thedas. I have a life here. A woman I love. Friends I care for dearly. A discipline I learnt from a teacher I respect greatly. There have been losses, setbacks but you came from a Circle and became a Warden, that's life, no? To live with all these things. I have a job of importance where I can do more to make things better, a home not so unlike where I lived before." She pauses and laughs quietly to herself. "A kitchen where no cooks will chase me out unlike Skyhold, rooms and an office for all the things a person collects in two years."

Inessa chuckles quietly at that. "I've never been personally chased out, but Garahel and his bottomless stomach mean I have to watch for that It's even worse here, though I suppose it's a small price to pay for the conveniences we can now access." Camp life in Skyhold's shadow was something to be endured, but she never truly enjoyed it.

"Yours is an approach many here could benefit from, I think. Some of my mentors spoke similarly, about finding balance where possible. We owe it to ourselves to keep perspective.

It's strange; I spent all my early life in the Circle, certain that it would be my future. I planned for it, only for all I knew to come to an end. And yet, I found a life outside its walls with a purpose, a beloved canine companion, and dear friends I never would have met otherwise. And for all that journeying, I find myself living in Circle quarters once more, enjoying the best of both worlds. The best parts of my life have been those I never could have anticipated. Sometimes, those moments of loss and hardship lead to something worthwhile."

She can almost hear Ciri making a full-circle pun, which makes her internally sigh. It's bad (glorious) enough her roommate piles them on when she's present, but even when she's not? Unfair.

"Yet we still live by how much we get in from the market, the more the sea out there freezes, the worse that's going to get. If people decide not to be so friendly with us, it changes again. There's a cost to being in Kirkwall. Shipping. Protection from piracy. Absorbing the cost of losses. Seasonal goods." It presents its own challenges and difficulties, the kind she's more familiar with as a Castilean who never quibbled about salt but who had to fight and steal for the sake of citrus fruits much of the year.

"Maybe it's what comes from home too; in a time of crisis we have to abandon or our own selfishness to become one crew. To work together as one. This is how we survived the only war we ever had." Phrased this way perhaps it softens the fact that there are times she finds the Inquisition deeply selfish at times, so many of them concerned with their own ends, what they might get or gain from it instead of what they might give, what they might do. "You understand then, to be part of a bigger thing and that we need to be ready to look to what we might take from something old to build for the future. That this is a step on the path to something more not for only ourselves."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

And I can't navigate the stars like my father

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject