faderift | { OPEN } catchall for the month

{ I. the gallows: central tower; first floor }
Minka runs. It's what she's done her whole life whenever she was in trouble or thought she would be blamed for something that wasn't even her fault. And what happened in the kitchen is definitely not her fault. She just came across the scene, immediately realized whoever saw her in there would blame her, and ran. She tries to get away as fast as possible, skidding around corners and checking behind her to make sure no one is chasing her...

...which is why she barrels straight into someone without even seeing them. The impact knocks the breath clear out of her and she falls back on her ass with a painful thud.

"Ow," she whines, before thinking to look at the other party. "What're you doing there?"

[ ooc: first come, first serve for this prompt, please! i don't want her running into multiple people. ]

{ II. the gallows: armory complex }
This dwarf has no armor. In addition to that, she has a shitty bow and around five arrows in her quiver. But she's finally joined the Forces division, signing an X on the paperwork that says she'll get paid for her service to the Inquisition. She's given a starter stipend, and told to get herself some armor. Minka looks down at her hooded Carta coat, with the sewn up holes and numerous stains. Yeah, this really isn't going to cut it, is it? Which is why there's a dwarf cautiously staring into an open door of the armory, shifting from foot to foot. She doesn't know anything about armor, like which kind she's meant to wear or what piece goes where.

Help?

"Walking, then getting run over, looks like."

The collision didn't knock Kit over--he's built like a brick shithouse--but he did take a half-step backwards to steady himself. He looks down at Minka where she's sprawled on the floor, then offers out a hand to help her up.

"What's got you racing around like a wild bronto? Everything all right?"

Minka stares at the hand, then gives him a suspicious look before pulling herself up without help. It's nothing personal, but she's been raised to believe that no one is ever going to help you. If it looks like it, then that's just a trick to get you to let down your guard. She assumes he'll start to pull her up, then let go so she falls back. And she would be right to land on her ass again for falling for it.

"No. Something exploded in the kitchen. Jam everywhere. I came in, saw it, and knew I'd get blamed." She takes a look back down the hall. There isn't the sound of any footsteps running their way, but that doesn't mean that she won't be accused if she sticks around this floor of the tower.

"I'm getting as far away as possible."

She leaves his hand hanging there in the air, and so after a moment Kit makes a face that might rightly be construed as 'uh all right then,' scratches the back of his head, then tucks his hand into his pocket instead. At her explanation of the events as they unfolded, he cracks the beginnings of a lopsided smile and, after glancing behind her long enough to ensure there's no one in swift pursuit, shrugs.

"Well so far, looks like no one's coming after you," he points out. "Why'd you think you'd get blamed anyhow? You got a history of blowing up jam jars?"

"Got a history of being an easy target, so I make myself not one now." She glances at him sidelong, finally paying attention to what he looks like. The scar's nothing; her face is covered in them. But she realizes the tattoo is familiar in a way. Maybe she heard it described once?

"You're that Legionnaire dwarf, ain't you?"

"You're that Legionnaire dwarf, ain't you?"

Seems like he's got a bit of a reputation now; he'll have to pester Beleth later to make sure it's the right kind of reputation. Still, no point in denying it. He cracks a little grin and shrugs. "What gave it a way, huh?" he replies wryly.

"I'm Kit. You're Minka, right?"

It's not that she's heard of him or his reputation at all; he introduced himself to her as such, and she figures he's the same. It's not like Legionnaire dwarves are a copper a dozen here.

"We already met. On the crystal things. So I know it's you." She pauses to check down the hall again. "Yeah. Minka. I'm gonna leave this place before anybody comes round."

Well introducing oneself across a sending crystal is hardly the same as meeting face to face. Some of Kit's grin fades, but he's not going to keep the kid hanging around a place that makes her uncomfortable.

"Sure, all right," he allows, scratching the back of his neck, and glances down the hall again. "I think you're all right, though. No one's come screaming down the hall making any demands about burst jam jars yet."

"Not yet," she agrees softly, eyes narrowed as she looks down the hall. She doesn't want to let down her guard. If she does -- if she gets comfortable -- then things will go to shit. They always do. But she can't disagree that it seems like no one is coming. This time.

"But if anyone does, you don't know nothing. 'Cause you don't. And I don't."

"Can I assist you?"

James steps from the back of the armory, where he was speaking to the Inquisition blacksmiths about what metals they needed to make higher quality blades. Silverite, for example, was something he knew they could get their hands on -- but his attention was pulled from such matters when he saw the baffled dwarf standing in the doorway.

"Um," she begins, standing up straighter and wondering if this guy is important and in charge. She should make sure he doesn't hate her immediately.

"I'm in Forces and they told me I need armor so I'm here for armor, but I dunno what I need and I figured someone who knows could just tell me? And then give me some. That's what they said. I don't gotta pay for it either, they said."

"Ah! I see, well, I think we can get you outfitted well enough." He stated, gesturing her within the armory itself.

"...so I take it you have never worn armor before?" He asked finally, after her rather interesting phrasing for a request to have new armor. "What sort of fighter are you? Archer, knives, sword and shield?"

Minka cautiously steps in, as if trained dogs can sniff out the newbie on her and are about to attack.

"Um, no. I'm an archer." She doesn't add that she's absolutely terrible at it. In a fight, no one's going to notice that her arrows aren't hitting in the midst of all the chaos, right? That's how she's run with it so far, the few times she's been pulled into Carta business outside her normal job of delivering stuff.

He tipped his head to the side, his gaze narrowing thoughtfully.

"Right ... then you'll need something medium-weight. Leather, solid breastplate." He went to look through the armor stands, going to take down the dwarf-sized leather armor. "We have some archer crafted armor, if you prefer it. Something that will allow you to carry your quiver without worrying about it slipping off and getting in your way.

For a moment she stays put, unsure if she's allowed any closer, but then she glances around the space and sees plenty of people with their hands all over everything, so she steps forward towards James and the armor stands, looking at the piece he's pulled down. It's nothing special, but because it's actually something new and not a hand-me-down, she looks at it like it's amazing.

"Oh. Should I have that instead? Do quivers slip off with this armor?"

James looked over at her armor, arching an eyebrow, "...well I would assume so, considering the wear. It seems like it's taken a few hits here and there."

He took down another set of leather armor, "Here, try that as well."

"It's more just life than a whole mess of battles," she explains, but she unbuckles her Carta coat and drops it on the ground. Underneath, she doesn't really have a stout dwarven figure. It's more hourglass: her chest and hips are pretty average dwarf size, but her waist nips in like she's never had a full stomach. Which she hasn't, until here. Her body has some catching up to do.

Smoothing hands down her wool shirt, she asks, "Do I just put it on, or do I gotta be wearing something special underneath?"

He looks her up and down - in an assessing way that clearly says he is sizing her up for the armor. He frowns as he notes how skinny she is, before he looks up at her. "Normally I would say just an undershirt, but you might want to consider wearing a full shirt. As you've never worn armor like this, it will help with chafing."

He gives her another look. "... We will also have to tighten all the straps in, for awhile."

"Oh, okay. Um, I don't have another shirt handy, so I'll just try it on for now." Of course, she's also going to need help there. Who knows where all these straps are supposed to sit? Not Minka, that's who.

"How do I start?"

James watched her for a moment, both of his eyebrows shooting up with surprise. Then his gaze narrowed with ... skepticism. "Have you never put on this kind of armor?"

Minka looks like a deer caught in torchlight, before she gestures back at her coat on the ground. There's no point in hiding what she is, right?

"I'm Carta. It's not like they outfit us in stuff that'll keep us alive. It's whatever's lying around. If we die, somebody will replace us. It's easier than buying good armor." And wasting it on an awful archer, but the goal here is to get paid for being an Inquisition soldier, so she's not going to reveal that.

He stared for a moment, before he exhaled slowly. He moved forward to her, tapping her shoulders. "First, you cinch the straps on the shoulders until it feels comfortably tight. You want a little breathing room."

A pause, before he stated firmly, "You are not replaceable. None of us are."

She doesn't shrink away when he touches her, but her body definitely tenses at the physical contact. Swallowing hard, she grabs the armor and puts it on, working her fingers under the first shoulder strap to pull it out and then pull it back through on a further notch in the leather.

"That the Inquisition motto or something," she asks distractedly, either because she's focusing on this strap or because the conversation is uncomfortable and she really doesn't want to have it. Maybe it's a bit of both. He doesn't know her. He doesn't know that she has very little value. This is just the sort of thing that people who want to be liked say so people think they care, right? It's what Minka would do.

He finishes doing the shoulder straps and then stands back, so she can do the rest. "Just slip them between the metal claps. Along the sides there. You can pull the laces tight there and there, to get things finished."

He snorts softly, "It's one of mine - something that I have garnered since I came here. It has seen me through some dark times."

Bending her head, she continues tightening the straps. Since it's dwarf-sized armor, Minka doesn't end up with a huge excess of leather straps, but it's cinched in more than most dwarves would need to. But already she's been gorging herself at every meal and taking extra back to her room to hide. Soon she'll have the same shape as the average dwarf woman.

"Yeah? And words help?" She isn't sure why she's asking. It's not like she thinks saying a motto will get her through dark times.

{ OPEN } catchall for the month

{ open prompts for minka }

I; +1 dwarf

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

II

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