faderift | ask me now, fire at everything at once

She is, truthfully, a little worse for wear. Getting thrown against some stone by a flying stone will do that to you, even if she's thankful there were no witnesses. She's holding her hand against her side; at least she has furthered her primal magic enough to make better practical use of ice, even if her other efforts to push her magic forward are making considerably less progress than she'd like. Promising to meet Cosima with lunch meant actually attending Cosima's lab with lunch, and she was just grateful that the slab of rock struck before she'd collected the food, rather than after. It's not a lot, standard winter fare, but it is all vegetarian friendly, at least.

Herian steels herself for a moment, holds herself upright, and knocks on the door. No need to worry Cosima overmuch, when so much has happened, of late. The injuries all seem to be confined to her torso, helpfully covered by robes. "Delivery service for Niehaus?"

A distinctly less Starkhaven accent in her voice, a deliberate mangling of Cosima's surname, as she waits at the door. Listen, she's playful in very very small ways, to a very very limited audience.

Cosima's a bit absent as she says, "Come in," in the middle of getting down some notes about her most recent observations. "I didn't ask for anything but if I was about to..." At which point she looks up. "Oh shit," she says, laughing. "Is it lunchtime already? Sorry, I lost track."

"It is. I fear I am a little late," so technically it's probably a little further into the socially acceptable lunch window than she'd otherwise consider optimal. She makes her way to Cosima, moves only very subtly tenser than usual, and kisses her cheek.

"Where can I put these?" Probably at some point she's realised it's best to let Cosima dictate any use of lab space, to avoid accidental cataclysm.

"Uh," she looks around, "that table to my left is good, just push the notes out of the way. Hey, you alright?" she adds as Herian moves and she catches that slight tension. Most people would miss it, but Cosima knows Herian better than most.

And move the notes she does, but very carefully setting them to the side, taking pains not to push them out of order. Speaking of pain, once the notes are safely out of the way, she starts pulling the food out of the basket. For the briefest moment, she considers glossing over the situation. Cosima was sick so recently, after all, she doesn't need something to worry about.

On the other hand: honesty. Or, at least, honesty while trying not to stress someone who is working extremely hard, recovering from almost being rendered a spirit, and so on.

"No matter for concern. Something strange has been happening to my magic, of late. I thought it was simply fatigue, but it has— it is effecting some other mages. It has just become a bit more... severe, you could say. " You could say, if you were trying to perhaps avoid saying what specifically happened. "What are you feelings on olives?"

"Olives are great," Cosima says, a little impatiently. "Severe how, Herian?" While she's usually willing to let Herian draw a boundary and enforce it, this sounds serious, and the fact that Herian is playing it off tends to make Cosima more worried than otherwise.

This is clearly not the moment to celebrate this bread adorned with olives, and she sets it down on a plate.

"I was struck by what I think was the Stone Fist spell. It was a shock, but I am bruised - nothing more."

"Jesus. So mages are going around getting magically sucker-punched? That's worrying, isn't it? Even if you're only bruised this time." She's willing to concede 'only bruised,' for all she's not quite sure she believes it, in the name of not entirely shutting down their conversation.

“Not all. I had mentioned some of what I was experiencing to Myrobalan, in case it were related to the sickness,” she hardly needs elaborate which sickness, she’s certain, “but I’m uncertain how to better this. It is hardly safe to send affected mages on missions, lest others be harmed.”

Her jaw tightens a little with worry, but she tries to press it down, make it all less visible. Cosima has endured too much already. Let lunch, at least, be a reprieve from worry. With a stiff sort of flourish, she presents the food. Maybe there’s some carefully observed favourite in there.

“Alas no onion rings, but perhaps in time.”

A meeting with a fellow project leader; admittedly, this might be a little more daunting a prospect if she had not had to spend her first week or so with greater responsibility within the Inquisition trying to assist organising the guard roster. It wasn't an insurmountable hurdle, but it was something of an adjustment.

By the same token, of course, she's now been in her role over a week, and is only properly starting to come to terms with it now. It is a balancing act, making sure she pays adequate attention to this to carry out her duty to the very highest standard, and to her personal project, to make sure it is not neglected simply because it is not Inquisition sanctioned or involving the fate of the world entire.

The hour fast approaches for Enchanter Julius' visit, and Herian still finds herself scowling as she looks over paperwork, hands resting on the desk. What a welcoming sight she must make.

Julius has had worse welcomes. He knocks lightly on the door frame so as not to startle her. "Knight-enchanter? Am I too early?"

He looks a bit tired, though arguably better than he had before they'd found a cure for the rifters. His workload hasn't eased and the phylactery problem is only getting worse, but at least he's not stuck feeling responsible for failing to save lives day in and day out. Then again, this is their first meeting, so she doesn't really have much to compare it to; his fatigue is generally a subtle thing.

"If your experience is like mine, I suppose there's not much delay between assignment to the post and having too much to do."

A sharp look up - poised to move, rather than a sharp jerk, although the potential impression of tightly wound coil in a trap might be applied in either case.

"Enchanter Julius," she realises, and shakes her head. "No, please. You are most welcome. Please forgive my—"

Scowling? Focus? Talent for looming at a distance, while of of height only slightly above average?

"manner, I was much absorbed in work. It is as you say." At least it's a very ordered sort of too much to do, and she gestures to a seat in offering.

"Thank you," he says, taking the offered seat. "I'm grateful to be kept busy, but I do occasionally suspect my job would be better performed by three people. Still, we do what we can." He glances at her papers, not overly nosy but unapologetic for his curiosity.

"So. The quarantine's wound down, but would you still like to discuss glyphs? Or was there something else on your mind?"

"I would. No harm lies in being better prepared, should another incident occur where such precautions are required."

She pauses a moment, and rather than staying standing, takes a seat at the same corner as Julius. "My magical abilities are largely offensive in nature. Useful for defending others in combat, less so in circumstances outside battle. I think perhaps that having plans for necessary countermeasures. You also mentioned fortification - I wondered if I might ask you a little more about that."

"Absolutely. Given your combat experience, I assume you're familiar with the fact glyphs needn't go off instantaneously. A caster can delay them, or even design them so they don't trigger until someone walks across them, for instance." He unrolls a small sheet of parchment he's brought along. "In a battle, someone's almost inevitably going to walk across a glyph shortly after it's cast. But there's no reason why they can't be incorporated into fortifications too. I know some mages have done more with this than I have, but even relatively simple modifications can prove very useful."

"Fire glyphs are the extent of mine own experience in casting, though not amongst the spells I cast most often." she confirms. She was hardly, however, able to say that she'd never been on the receiving end of a glyph lying in wait. "That would prove invaluable. One use I had considered was for securing the memorial site. Do you imagine something of that sort would be appropriate? We are trying to ensure the memorial is not tampered with during its construction, but—"

She shakes her head. "Mayhaps too risky, with all those who are attending to pay tribute and will need to see to construction."

"Hm, yes, you'd have to work out some mechanism to make sure it wasn't triggered by those visiting in good faith. That might prove more complicated, though not necessarily impossible." He glances up from his notes. "Are you acquainted with Myrobalan? He has a talent for glyphwork, and for something that nuanced I might consult with him to save myself reinventing something he's already thought of."

"The people of Kirkwall have endured much, and magic remains a matter of no small concern. I cannot but dread the repercussions if a well-meant protective ward were to activate when a mourner went to pay their respects."

Perhaps Herian should be introduced to the rifter concept of #yikes, if it has made its way to Thedas.

"Mage Shivana? Aye, I've some acquaintance with him," she says, because that's a totally normal way to acknowledge being friends with someone. "Whatever you feel is necessary, Enchanter. He has some familiarity with the memorial through involvement with Chantry Relations - I am sure he will be able to offer a good many insights."

It is late in the day. Late enough that, by this point, she has come to expect that she is reaching an hour when all will be well. There will be a few hours reprieve. Her ribs are suffering the aftermath of meeting with stone, and her magic has been drained away, and surely, at least for a time, that will be the end of it. She makes her way from the alienage to the docks, and spots a lean figure as she wanders down.

"Good evening, Serah. Do you wait for the boat to return to the Gallows?"

ask me now, fire at everything at once

COSIMA

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JULIUS

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GARETH