open!

[deserteur]

WHO: Théo & Fifi Mariette & YOU
WHAT: New kids on the block
WHEN: Nowish
WHERE: The Hanged Man
NOTES: Nah

It is a little comforting to find that a dirty tavern is a dirty tavern, even on the other side of Thedas. It is even more comforting to have the confirmation that they aren't prisoners: no one stops them from leaving the Gallows, as far as Théo knows no one tails them through Lowtown, and if there are familiar faces in the Hanged Man it only makes sense, given the time of night and the place's apparent popularity.

Théo and Fifi are lucky enough to get a table in a corner, out of the way of any future fistfights, by nabbing it as soon as its prior occupants stand up and taking turns going to the bar so it's never left unattended. For a while Théo is kept occupied asking Fifi about her new job, and if she likes it, and if people are kind, and if not would she like to show him who—he won't do anything, he just wants to know who to hate, that's all—but it doesn't take long for his attention to turn outward to the rest of the room.

"You, hello, Inquisition," he might say, unmistakably Orlesian, on spotting a face familiar from the Gallows. "Where are you from?"

Comments

[gatheringstorm]

One of the regular bouncers is a tall horned woman who is relaxing at the bar when she's not busy tossing out disruptive assholes. Though she would have been seen with a staff at the Gallows, it's not present on her now, and she doesn't use (or seem to need) magic when it comes to her job in particular. Sipping her free ale, she answers Theo's question.

"Val Royeaux, can't you tell?" Korrin flashes a grin as her own accent couldn't be less Orlesian. "Or try Wycome, party central of the Marches. We're famous for drinking most of Antiva's wine."

[iceblade]

One person who definitely stands out is the tall, tattooed redhead in furs and leathers, with a greatsword seemingly made out of pure ice strapped to her back. That seems an effective deterrent toward unwanted attention, and she's drinking with her feet propped up on the empty seat opposite her own. Glancing over, she grins at the Orlesians whose faces might be vaguely familiar.

"Not from around here, lad, I'm sure you've guessed that!" Avvar accent, thick and unmistakable. "I'm from White Wolf Hold, in the Frostbacks. Call me Skadi."

[untiltheyarent]

The sigh of a qunari is enough to give Fifi pause, and she stays silent behind her drink for the moment, just taking in the sight of Korrin. She's seen them before, once or twice, but never spoken to one and certainly never received a smile.
"Quite clearly," she replies with a half-smile; being from Val Royeaux herself, and knowing that Korrin's accent comes nowhere near it, she's playing along.

[untiltheyarent]

Fifi narrows her eyes as she focuses on parsing the accent, an expression which might look a little aggressive if not on the face of such a slip of a person. It quickly relaxes, however, into an intrigued smile. "What brings you from the Frostbacks?" she asks, her own accent thickly Orlesian.

[iceblade]

"I wanted to see the world, at least for a time. And because I have this." Skadi lifts her left hand, where the faint green glow resides. "Fear not, it isn't contagious." She flashes a lopsided smile, hoping it won't scare them off but not about to hide it. It's a green glow in her hand; that's pretty difficult to hide, anyway.

[justnice]

Taverns are taverns everywhere —

Or so Finch assumes. He's really only ever been to one, at least regularly enough to tell; hadn't the coin to go inside much on the way out from home. But at least stables are stables everywhere, and so are loud shems.

"Ansburg," Near enough to it, and that's all Theo needs to know. He's gotten an earful of Orlesian accents since coming to the Inquisition, but they're never going to stop sounding fake. The puppet shows really do get them bang-on (that Theo isn't sporting a long twirling mustache is probably a matter of time). "What about you?"

He smiles like this isn't the world's stupidest question, draws his shoulders in low, looks up. The picture of affable regard, if it weren't for the way his eyes draw tight toward the exits.

[thunderproof]

"Nowhere you've heard of," Adalia promises brightly, turning to face the man with a smile, left hand raised to wave. She never wears gloves unless it's too cold to help it (which it has been, but she's indoors now, and no one will ever be able to accuse her of being secretive —) and so her anchor shard is just as brightly displayed as her smile is, and Adalia doesn't seem too bothered by the idea anyone might disapprove.