faderift | [OPEN] Get out of bed, get a hammer and a nail

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[OPEN] Get out of bed, get a hammer and a nail

WHO: Nari and you!
WHAT: Open for Drakonis
WHEN: Throughout the month
WHERE: Kirkwall
NOTES: Darktown Stuff, general CW for mention of character death and related grief, other CWs posted in their specific threads

Much like the month itself, Nahariel slips between foul and fair as the tight bud of her grief shows the very first small signs of opening. On the good days there are faint smiles, on very good the warm chuckle that so easily issued from her before Sina's death. On the bad days her feet drag to her work, she stares at the plans she'd begun to draft for too long before making new marks. On very bad days her time is spent curled in bed staring dully at the ceiling or down at the Gallows docks no matter the weather, monosyllabic at her most talkative.

Either way, the world turns onward.

[Not necessary, but feel free to specify if you'd like a good day or a garbage day in your header!]

I. Hightown

Being near the blackened ruins of the Chantry Forest is still difficult. Despite that, Nari can regularly be found walking to and from the area. Sometimes it's to harvest what uncharred heartwood can be salvaged from the charcoal spires that once were trees. Most often it's to the still-standing grove where the statue of Andraste reaches out her hand to care for the space; clearing away wilted offerings, spent candles and the spilled wax around them, replacing papers or notes that have been tugged by the wind out from under the rocks that held them. And, when the ground begins to thaw, turning over the soil in preparation for planting the first beds of flowers.

Sometimes she can be heard murmuring as if conversing quietly with someone, although there is no-one there.

II. Darktown

The elf's initial survey of the area, its strengths and weaknesses (mostly the latter), has begun. When she isn't pacing out spaces and taking scrawled but detailed notes with the aid of one or two volunteers (you, perhaps?), she's bent over a table covered in drafting tools and rolls of cheap parchment with a quill or charcoal stick in her hand, the appropriate smudges on her skin, and a look of intense concentration that wrinkles the Crafter God's vallaslin spread across her brow, the humble beginnings of her plans appearing.

Sometimes the wind howls through the space like a wounded beast, grabbing at the edges of her plans, and once in a great while it wins, sending her sprinting and wide-eyed after them, Dalish curses bursting from her like the first blast of water through a broken dam.

III. Wildcard

When she's not doing these things she's sitting around carving in various places; little figures, a complex bracelet, a set of odd and complicated dice, something that looks like it might be a handle, boxes that she sells for a little extra income. Fixing chairs and tables in the Hanged Man (a neverending task), trying to get back into fighting shape in the courtyard, walking everywhere, visiting you, something else entirely!

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Nari hasn't been back to the space she shared with Sina since her clansister had taken her last breath. Memories lanced through her heart sharp enough to make her wince whenever she considered it. She'd never live there again, it was too much, but now that Myr had offered her the unused bed in his quarters, it was time to go back. She wouldn't take space that could be used by another any longer, and there were things she wanted--needed--within that room.

Those desires weren't enough to give her the strength to do it alone, however, which means she's waiting down near her old quarters for someone else who'd know a little of what it meant to walk through that door.

When Fern arrives, it's with a little cloth satchel slung over her shoulders--mostly empty, for now, but likely soon to be filled with little mementos and trinkets of Sina's for her and Nari to take away with them. More than grief, what she feels now is dread, and guilt; that this isn't her place, that Sorrel should be here instead.

She comes up to Nari's side and gently touches her arm, smiling a little sadly as she does so. "I'm ready," she tells her, not bothering with a greeting, or with small talk. They know why they're together today.

What remains of the Chantry Forest is the only reason reason Korrin ever ventures past the Hightown market. The area was important to Sina, after all, and it isn't difficult to guess that's where Nahariel spends a significant portion of her time. In fact, she spots her Dalish friend a short distance away, ahead of it. With Korrin's long legs, it doesn't take more than a few steps to close the distance enough.

"Hey, Nari. Want any help today?" Tending to the land isn't something innate to her, but she figures the ability to follow directions and having at least a foot more in height might count for something. And anyway, she's been meaning to check up on Nari. This seems a perfect opportunity, as long as she's in the mood.

It had been... a day.

But here it ended, the sun setting, and Nari sat on the Dahlasanor-made blanket spread on her new bed with her bare feet tucked beneath her arranging a small herd of halla figurines near a glass aravel on the small desk at its end. The rest of the desk was carefully organized tools, spools of wire, rolled scrolls of parchment, quills in various stages of being tempered and stripped, a few projects still unfinished. A thin volume of Antivan songs, surrounded by a circlet of softly glowing ever-blooming flowers, all resting on what seems to be a sketched drawing of some sort. Beneath the bed and leaning against the wall are bits and pieces of wood; long and short, thick and thin, all sorted into their types, all carefully placed so that nothing would stick out far enough to get into Myr's way or pose a danger.

A few tunics, a few pair of leggings. A set of leathers, a set of daggers, one hunting knife, a belt with pouches hanging from the desk's chair. A few pale scarves folded with the utmost care, a well worn (and well cared for) pair of boots at the door.

This, the sum total of her belongings.

It feels like an ending, or a beginning, and she's not sure which. While contemplating this, her ears perk up at the sound of a soft chime. Then, after a short while, another, louder this time. Once there's a noise at the door, she calls a quiet greeting so as not to startle the returning man with her presence.

"Welcome back, Myr."

When she heard the Inquisition didn't mean to officially sponsor the work efforts in Darktown, Nari was incensed. After all, it seemed like every other hurdle she'd run into was built around the importance of their relations with the city of Kirkwall. Here it was, the first project she was taking part in that had a direct positive impact for the city, and it was to be undertaken in their personal time and neither in the Inquisition's name nor with their resources.

She could puzzle at it until they carved her funeral staff and planted a tree over her cold curled body and she would still never understand shem'len politics.

Despite this, her mind was already whirling with the possibilities of the work she could do in the city beneath. This is how she came to be hip deep in a pile of scrap, discards, and garbage (glad again for her sturdy pair of boots) in search of whatever useful bits and pieces could be found.

"You know," she calls to Colin with surprising good nature for what her hands were currently touching, "Hightown is good for one thing at least. What they call ruined up there is still a fair treasure."

Having been lost in thought, Nari jumps slightly at Fern's touch. Soon enough she's nodding and offering a small apologetic smile at having done so.

She leads the rest of the way to the door. It takes the space of a long breath for her to put her hand on the latch, and two more to press it open. There's the creak, the one she'd so oft bemoaned but never fixed (she'd liked the look of fond long-suffering amusement Sina would bestow on her), and it's like traveling through time. She'll open the door, and Sina will be standing by the small window, her fingers gentle on the leaves of the plant she kept inside, the mousey brown soft wave of her hair spread across her thin shoulders, and she'll turn, and her face will light up at her clansister's return, full of stories of what had bloomed that day, what a child had said, and--

Nahariel has stopped breathing, her jaw clamped shut, her eyes staring at the slightly open door with a warring mix of helpless hope and fear, her fingernails biting into the wood of the frame.

The day had not begun well, but the familiar voice lifts some of the grey from Nari's surroundings.

"Korrin," she replies with a nod, her face weary but obviously pleased to see the woman approaching her. "I wouldn't say no to another pair of hands. Or even just some company that isn't staring at me like I could tear a branch off the nearest tree with my teeth and rush them at any moment."

That wasn't fair, it wasn't always like that, but Nari's not particularly inclined to be fair today.

And Korrin doesn't care in the slightest, as evidenced by that snort of hers. Nari's been through a lot, and the humans of Hightown have hardly made them easier. Between them, the Vashtoth will always choose the Dalish woman over the font of bigotry that humans often are without any provocation.

"Hopefully I can take some of the heat off from you; I am a 'scary qunari' after all. But fuck 'em anyway, we've done nothing wrong and they can just deal. Whatever you need doing, I've got some time to spare."

At her hesitation, Fern's hand again settles gently on Nari's arm. "It's all right," she assures her quietly. "I'll go in with you." She's not sure where this wellspring of strength has come from, but she isn't about to question it.

Fern reaches out to touch the latch as well and gently coaxes it the rest of the way open, allowing in the light.

Fern's touch seemingly restarts the older woman with a shudder, and she breathes in audibly through her nose. The light comes in; slanting across the dusty floor, motes kicked up by the door's movement floating lazily through the beam.

There was her bed, as rumpled as she'd left it, the clan-woven blanket on top haphazardly tossed to the end and left where it had fallen the morning of the day Sina died. A small window lets light in on the other side, the hoped for green of the plant that sits where the light falls on an end-table a bare papery brown, curled leaves dropped in and around its pot, among the small herd of halla figurines of various sizes that surround it. Sina's too neat bed, un-slept in for longer than Nari's, a thick group of pale scarves in varying hues hanging from the nearest carved post.

Turning to look at Fern as if to reassure herself, Nari heads in.

The derisive snort, 'scary qunari', and 'fuck 'em anyway' are enough to put a smile on Nari's face, and she nods. "I was thinking it might be a good day to topple and harvest what I can from a couple trees, before they end up firewood. Again." She's not bitter, not at all. "There's good wood left in them, they'll need clearing in any case, and I want to save as much of it for the people who actually cared as I can. It'll go much faster with two."

Sina's trees turning to firewood has Korrin scowling, thinking Nari has every reason to be bitter. Nari's clansister poured her magic into in order to create something beautiful, and greed has severely diminished it. She nods, still furious at the thought but her sense of practicality remains.

"Then that's what we'll do. It's unfair that those of us who tried to defend it were drowned out by louder -asshole- voices, but we can still salvage something. And if you're hungry by the time we're done, join me for dinner at my place."

After a moment's hesitation, Fern follows her in.

She'd never visited Sina at her house, had only shared the few moments of their intimate friendship in the Chantry forest; but it's not difficult to imagine this place as it might have been in the past, a lively little sanctuary for two clansisters to return to after a day spent dealing with Inquisition business. Fern steps quietly through the motes of dust floating through the beams of light and approaches the plant by the window, reaches out a hand to touch the dead brown leaves that have fallen around it. Nothing to be done about fallen leaves, but... "I think it's still wick," she tells Nari with a quick glance at her over her shoulder.

Her eyes drop to the halla figurines, and she picks one of them up, holding it gently.

For some reason, the idea that the plant could still be alive is enough to make Nari's vision watery.

"I--" she starts roughly, and then clears her throat, "Would you like to take over its care? If I try, I'm sure it'll finish the poor thing." She bends to pull a chest from beneath her bed, picking up and folding the bedding to add to the few contents. "A few of the halla might want to go with it," Nari continues, as casually as she can, before turning to look at the varied sculptures that make up the herd. She moves to pick up one in particular, much cruder than the others, and turns it over in her hands with a small smile.

"This was the first thing I ever carved her." There had been others of course, one or two among the rest that had been gifts from the friends Sina had made, but this one... "She wouldn't put it down for a week, not even for softer things." She'd been so proud.

"At least it's already fire-tempered," Nari says with a sigh, "They might make for good staves." She shoulders the axe she brought and points her chin at a stand of the stark black spires, heading off towards them.

"I appreciate the invitation. And your hospitality," she says as they walk, "Having somewhere to go meant a great deal, even if I didn't always seem thankful. I've a room now," somewhere she can actually go without the silence having a palpable presence, "but I hope dinner might be a repeatable affair? Don't tell Lux," she says with a crooked smile, "but I miss him."

And also you.

Following along, Korrin eyes those black spires and nods. They'd make for decent staff material, if nothing else. She has more thoughts about that, but listens to Nahariel without interruption, casting a smile back at her. She didn't expect any gratitude earlier, not with Nari in such a state, but it's a relief to see her doing relatively better now.

"He misses you, too. He's always more spoiled with guests, you know. And yes, dinner is absolutely an open offer whenever you're up to it. You know how much Araceli makes, we'll never not have enough food." Then she quirks an eyebrow, curious. "Where are you staying, these days? I forgot to ask, earlier."

This was always hard, cutting into the trees, but it was easier with someone else there who shared the confused knot of feeling, so the axe felt a little lighter as Nari raised it to begin cutting the top half of the felling notch.

"Third floor of the mage tower," she says between swings, "With Myr. Elven mage, does a lot of work with glyphs--do you know him?"

Simon Ashlock showing up at their door was always a source of obvious delight to Myr, and it quickly became one for Nahariel as well; first because watching both Templar and mage light up and soften once the outside world had lost its power was absolutely endearing, and then because she found herself genuinely enjoying the human's company.

One afternoon, with Myr caught up longer that usual (excited about something, probably), it's just Nari there to welcome him--although she does so by calling that the door's open, since her hands are buried in some kind of wooden mechanism that she's staring at intently and moving back and forth.

"Afternoon--Myr's not back yet, but you're welcome to wait for him," she says, not looking up.

"Myr...yeah, I think we spoke once? And wasn't he one of the people who helped find a cure for the rifters? I owe him one for that." Korrin relaxes a little, glad that Nahariel isn't living alone and that the person she chose is someone of good character. Not that she doesn't trust Nari's own opinion, but it does bring some extra peace of mind.

Nari's own opinion on company perhaps isn't entirely trustworthy, but that's neither here nor there.

"He was, yes. Worked on it until he near dropped himself. He's a good man," she says, cutting the lower half of the notch with repetitive thuds until she can knock the piece loose. That done, she gestures at the two man saw she'd left earlier. "I've a single, but it'll go faster with two if you're still of a mind to help."

Wordlessly, Fern collects up the little plant and places it in the basket she'd brought with her from her rooms. Already, it is not so difficult for her to envision a place for this plant in the herb garden storeroom--just beneath the window, beneath the artwork of Arcadia Bay that Chloe had sketched for her. (There's a reason why this feels appropriate, of course, but she gently coaxes those thoughts aside for now.)

"What was she like?" she asks after a pause, looking to Nari. "When she was little. When she was growing up."

And, it should go without saying, that all of the little halla figurines are added to the basket, too. She won't leave them behind.

A wistful smile ghosts across Nari's lips as she tucks away the rough little figure in the chest as well and moves across the space to lay out the scarves. Lacking her own (it was enjoying its new life as bandage and tourniquet), she winds a pale green-grey one around her neck and for a moment is overwhelmed by the light scent of loam and herb and Sina that still clung to it, closing her eyes.

"Sweet, especially as a babe," she chuckles softly. "Spoilt as anything. She was the most precious thing we had, especially since we weren't sure we were going to get her at all. Her mother was so close to bearing when the raid came and we were sure she'd lose the baby. The entire Clan doted on her. Even more when her magic came."

Nari retrieves another scarf, light rose, and folds it absently away, gesturing for Fern to take a look through the remainder if she wished.

"The halla took to her right away. She used to insist on sleeping out with them on fawn-watch, the mother's head right in her lap. If she hadn't been First, she would have been the Halla'amelan for sure."

"Normally I don't approve of people working themselves nearly to death, but...in that instance, I would have done the same. I wish I could have helped more." Nodding, Korrin goes over to the saw, picking up an end. "Of course, I don't make empty offers. Ready when you are, Nari."

Somehow, Fern has no difficulty picturing any of what Nari describes to her--not even that last word which, though she doesn't know what it means, she finds no trouble in understanding. (She'd hate to admit it, but she would do something similar for the sheep during lambing season.)

She comes over to Sina's neatly made bed, gently resting the basket with the plant and halla figurines atop it, then reaches out to touch the fabric of the scarves. Involuntarily, her eyes fill with tears, and on instinct she tries to draw in a slow breath and straighten her shoulders, lifting her chin; it's harder to cry, she's discovered, with a straight back, and she is so tired of crying.

"I wish I could've known her then--known about all those things, from her. But I don't even know how we'd have met, if it weren't for the Inquisition. If it weren't for this--" She pulls off her glove and stares down at the anchor shard that glows in her palm.

It had killed Sina, but it had brought them together, too.

Colin is digging through the garbage with a broken pole he found. Right now, he has spotted an old tarpaulin underneath the muck and is in the process of working it out from under everything.

"Rich people," he agrees. "Instead of mending things, they throw them away."

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[OPEN] Get out of bed, get a hammer and a nail

FERN - Moving Day

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MYR - Moving Day (Evening)

COLIN - Trash Mammals!

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SIMON - Tool Time (open to Myr)

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