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Entry tags:
[open] this old bastard is still around
WHO: Loghain + OPEN
WHAT: With time to think comes time to come up with creative ways to avoid processing your grief.
WHEN: Throughout March.
WHERE: The Gallows, Kirkwall, his cabin on Sundermount
NOTES: None, will update as needed.
WHAT: With time to think comes time to come up with creative ways to avoid processing your grief.
WHEN: Throughout March.
WHERE: The Gallows, Kirkwall, his cabin on Sundermount
NOTES: None, will update as needed.
At some stage, Loghain realizes that he has time to catch his breath and think clearly, and this presents a problem. Because he's thinking clearly about a lot of things, mostly to do with Seheron, and all of these thoughts leave him emotionally compromised.
...This is probably fine.
I. THE GALLOWS
The Wardens' office is small, but there remains enough work to be done for Loghain to spend hours here when work takes Alistair and Nathaniel elsewhere. He spends his time pacing behind the office's single desk rather than sitting at it, leaning over it to consider maps and documents that might provide leads about the Wardens' usual enemies, the darkspawn, and their unusual enemies--themselves.
His hours here are unpredictable, but tend towards the very early morning, or late in the evening, with a lit candle, a cup of tea, and the wolf-dog Primrose resting alertly near his feet.
II. KIRKWALL
Being a Warden or a member of the Inquisition forces doesn't necessarily pay well, but it pays enough for Loghain to afford the occasional trip into the city to acquire things for himself (or for Sooty, or Primrose) that the Inquisition doesn't have on offer. He manages two or three trips into Kirkwall this month, and can be found prowling through the Lowtown markets in search of something that might resemble a decent dog collar, or better horse tack.
III. SUNDERMOUNT
Loghain can thank Celia for most of his practical skills with regards to the mending of broken things; and after the brutal winter that swept through the Free Marches, his little cabin on remote Sundermount is in need of some tending to.
It is here that he chooses to pass most of his time, with either stabled in her nearby paddock or left to graze the loose grasses nearby, while Primrose prowls the wilderness like the half-wild thing she is. With lumber felled from nearby trees, Loghain mends holes in his roof, patches up the interior walls where the draft can get in, and generally sees to the maintenance of his small patch of property. It's hard labour, and it's the perfect distraction from the gnawing, aching hole in his heart that reminds him, whenever his hands and thoughts are idle, that Maric is truly dead.
On warmer days, he takes Sooty for rides through the foothills, or hunts for game with Primrose. On colder nights, he sits quietly indoors with his old journals and notes, drinking whiskey while deliberating miserably over what he could have been if, years in the past, he had simply kept looking.
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"Teren." If he was sober he'd be a lot more worried, but uh, liquid courage and all. Look woman, you're in a tavern. Mishaps happen. Enjoy the ode de stale stinky beer smell. "And I've had... a few. Dozen? No, that can't be right. I'd be dead." Sluuuuurrrrrrrp. "More than you two, at any rate, judging by the lousy two pints I see here." Blink. "...which I spilled. Fine, fine, I'll buy you more. Will that make you stop plotting ways in which to flay my skin, top bun?" he says to Teren.
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"Carver," Loghain begins warningly, and looks from him to Teren, who is currently now covered in the beer she'd just finished choking on.
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Quick as a snake, she pinches Carver’s ear and wrenches his head downward the way someone might wrestle a bull, using a handhold to throw the larger creature off-balance.
“What was that, boy?” she snaps, fire in her eyes, giving another tug, “want to call me that again?”
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There's a muffled "ow" as he keeps face down on the table. "Okay, misread the intent. No flaying. Just a brutal beat down." Which he absolutely deserves. "You want new drinks... uh, ma'am? Serah? Messere? Lady of the Strong Fingers and Wrist who I think is making your companion gawk in awe?"
...okay he may have managed to move his head to sneak a look at Loghain. And is totally trying to divert her attention.
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"Teren, he's drunk," he says abruptly, eyeing Carver's ear with a grimace, "he's not going to remember a shred of this in the morning." If he's lucky.
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"Then it shall happen again," she cuts to Loghain, though at the sight of him, her look softens slightly. "If a whelp has to learn a thing more than once, he's got only himself to blame."
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He exhales and reaches out to clap a hand on Carver's shoulder, attempting to haul him up from the table. "Are you able to get yourself back to the Gallows?" he asks him, sounding already as though he seriously doubts it.
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...
And that means Carver decides it's nap time. Yep, sorry Loghain and Teren. You've got a passed out Warden on your hands.