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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.
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!
no subject
Herian knew pain. Herian spoke about honour. They're things Araceli remembers too, same as Cosima's little model ship that lives in her room along with all the rest with a note that she still has to find a more secure place for. Two years almost for her and Korrin so to see others finding one another here where so much is terrible, or not even terrible but a struggle, tiring, draining, something to drag yourself through when you have to fight to remember that yes we're all on the same side here warms her heart. It's easier when there's someone else to turn to. Who can be there.
"It's the main waterway for Kirkwall and it's for shipping. The water can be foul depending on the time or the place," and she means foul in all senses of the word Herian, summer wasn't the most pleasant time to have to conduct business in the docks or work on repairs there but it was what it was. "Dead fish or fish parts, anything people throw away. Sometimes bodies. Bits of bodies. People see water and throw anything into it here."
As if it's too much to treat the water with a little respect when they all have to live by it. Still, her tone brightens. "It's as cold as it was in Skyhold by now too, I'm told it won't be long before there's ice forming so that'll put an end to swimming there for some time."
no subject
The matter of Cosima, though, gnaws at her a little, and she rubs her knuckles along her jaw as she sinks lower into the water, aware of the bumps prickling over her skin in response to the bite of the cold water. "I have had... concerns," she manages, after a moment of consideration. "I know my manner and my politics are not well-loved by some quarters of the Inquisition. I had not wished her to be poorly impacted by mine own reputation."
Loyalist, devout, marble rendering of something person-like that may not truly be a person, focused on duty and honour and what is right when so many are focused on what is indulgent, what feels good, what makes life better for them but not that which keeps the most people safe. She might think that it seemed likely enough that there'd be some that wouldn't be sorry to see her floating at the docks, if she were inclined to be so maudlin.
no subject
Swimming for a few moments to get the blood flowing again allows Araceli time to think on what she might say. "If people take it out on Cosima, it says more about them than either of you. Not that it's a comfort at the time but...Korrin's a Vashoth mage living in Kirkwall, she's never been shy about who she is or where she stands. I might pass more comfortably as not being a rifter," two years in Thedas will do that to you when you sound comfortably Antivan along with making an effort, though her tone is no less gentle for it, no less aware of how things are. "But if people know or learn I'm still that or someone with an anchor, someone too invested in politics as the way to get things done. I'd see us all work together as one instead of pulling in too many selfish directions at once.
"Are you afraid for her reputation? Or are you afraid of more than that?" It's a question Araceli almost doesn't ask. This is Kirkwall. They aren't well-loved here. How easy is it to make a fist towards a rifter after all?
no subject
And Araceli and Cosima were both of them already targeted for being rifters; the thought of Cosima being endangered again was alarming - terrifying, really.
"Even if it is a reflection more on the attacker than on Cosima or myself, that would not undo any hurt inflicted." The unfortunate reality of things, and hardly one that needed pointing out.
no subject
Still, Araceli knows worry. Taking it home with you. Feeding it the table. Giving it a place in the bed.
"What happened," she doesn't look away but neither does she look at Herian, her voice wavering because she's cold, because she stopped swimming or so she tells herself. "That was terrible. But we all of us have friends within the Inquisition too, and those who make certain to hear of scheming before it comes to pass. I might miss running the rooftops at night but I don't break the curfew."
Keep your head down, play the game, break and bend the rules that you can.
no subject
It is nice to hear oneself validated. You have honour, but being told it, hearing it, thinking it so yourself and actually having honour, that was different. Honour was hard to be certain in; she wondered, sometimes, if the moment one congratulated oneself on honour was the moment they ceased to have it.
Her honour does not matter.
"If— If ever there is some matter that I can offer you assistance with, please do not hesitate to ask. No matter how small the matter, I would be glad to help. It is hard enough for people to be displaced from their homes and robbed of their identities, without suffering difficulties here as well."
no subject
This is embarrassing, let her turn on her back to drift, cloak fanning out around her as she struggles with it.
"You're not so much bigger than me that I couldn't get away. And I trust you would know limits better than others." It's hard for her to get the words out, admitting that for all she can be friendly with big warriors, sparring with then frightens her.
no subject
(That, admittedly, could depend on circumstance.)
"Consider me at your disposal. I train most days in the early hours, before full light, and sometimes into the morning. You can join me on any day."