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away, I'd rather sail away || OTA
WHO: SCIPIO + VARIOUS
WHAT: Paule di Simone is the best bard in all of Thedas and you can fight me on that. and this is ANOTHER CATCH-ALL, this one with a lute. Scipio has 1) stuff to get for people, 2) stuff to bring to people, 3) something that he's stolen, 4) a lute to play, 5) a song in his heart, 6) four loose gold teeth. I had some vague preplanned stuff with people but please feel free to be here. especially as an accomplice to petty theft.
WHEN: midway through the Fallow Mire plot + onward!
WHERE: SKYHOLD (battlements + tavern + on the run + wherever!!)
NOTES: prepare to be charmed. be an accomplice. you know you want to.
The people of Skyhold--the Inquisition, the pseudo-refugees, the fellow wardens, the mages, the Templars, the elves, the volunteers and the barmaids and the kitchen drudges and the stableboys and everything in between--have, to a man, never heard of the great bard and balladeer, Paule di Simone.
Unthinkable. Scipio has learned this unthinkable only after arriving in Skyhold. His frozen feet thawing out by a tavern fire, he had called for one of Simone's fine tunes, and had received... nothing. And while it would be too much to say that he would have avoided Skyhold, had only he known of this great gap of knowledge (which he might carelessly pronounce gap-e, in quick conversation), he still finds himself disappointed.
But disappointment, in Scipio the Marvel, is not a thing that lasts. Paule di Simone cannot bring his ballads from beyond the cold grave, and so Scipio will do the work for him, in his memory. In humming, in singing, in whistling, in playing. His quest, it is tireless, and of far greater worth than any task the Inquisition might set. All will know the ballads before the season's end.
[ diamante soles - Skyhold and its battlements, in the morning]
[ la moglie del figlio di Robin - around Skyhold, in the afternoon]
[ il suno del silenzio - a tavern, at night ]
- OR - just write me something and I'll tag it.
WHAT: Paule di Simone is the best bard in all of Thedas and you can fight me on that. and this is ANOTHER CATCH-ALL, this one with a lute. Scipio has 1) stuff to get for people, 2) stuff to bring to people, 3) something that he's stolen, 4) a lute to play, 5) a song in his heart, 6) four loose gold teeth. I had some vague preplanned stuff with people but please feel free to be here. especially as an accomplice to petty theft.
WHEN: midway through the Fallow Mire plot + onward!
WHERE: SKYHOLD (battlements + tavern + on the run + wherever!!)
NOTES: prepare to be charmed. be an accomplice. you know you want to.
The people of Skyhold--the Inquisition, the pseudo-refugees, the fellow wardens, the mages, the Templars, the elves, the volunteers and the barmaids and the kitchen drudges and the stableboys and everything in between--have, to a man, never heard of the great bard and balladeer, Paule di Simone.
Unthinkable. Scipio has learned this unthinkable only after arriving in Skyhold. His frozen feet thawing out by a tavern fire, he had called for one of Simone's fine tunes, and had received... nothing. And while it would be too much to say that he would have avoided Skyhold, had only he known of this great gap of knowledge (which he might carelessly pronounce gap-e, in quick conversation), he still finds himself disappointed.
But disappointment, in Scipio the Marvel, is not a thing that lasts. Paule di Simone cannot bring his ballads from beyond the cold grave, and so Scipio will do the work for him, in his memory. In humming, in singing, in whistling, in playing. His quest, it is tireless, and of far greater worth than any task the Inquisition might set. All will know the ballads before the season's end.
[ diamante soles - Skyhold and its battlements, in the morning]
The morning is for humming.
Gone are the days when Scipio might sleep past the sunrise. Now he is awake long before that, plagued by nightmares whose theme he now well knows. Restlessly, he wanders, with his lute slung over his back and his six pairs of socks on his feet. In kitchens and beside bread ovens, he has made friends. No surprise there. He makes friends very easily, and his friends like to give him things: and so each morning, Scipio leaves with a little loaf of bread all his own. Sometimes there's raisins baked into it. Sometimes, there's cheese. Sometimes there's wine--it is never too early for wine--but each morning finds him on the walltop.
Above it all, he sits on the stone of the battlement and rests his back against the stone. The wall protects him from the worst of the wind, lets him peacefully eat whatever he's won by his charm. And as the sun rises, he takes up his lute and coaxes the tune back into her strings, so he might play a few snatches of some tune and hum to himself. The breaks in the music are so he can blow on his fingertips, trying to warm them.
"Gloves," he remarks, aloud, to no one in particular, "gloves without fingers. That would help."
[ la moglie del figlio di Robin - around Skyhold, in the afternoon]
The afternoon is for whistling.
Most of the company he keeps is the company of Rafael. Inseparable, they wander the keep together, fulfilling the tasks that have been requested of them. Unlocking chests, retrieving books, collecting valuables, bartering for socks--delivering the goods, waiting for their payment. Some of their work is innocent, and some of it is a little more treacherous, prying open shuttered windows so they can crawl over the sill--but all of it, Scipio does cheerfully, whistling as he works. The needs of the people are few and simple so far, like the games of children to two experienced thieves and brigands such as Scipio and Rafael.
Although...
Late afternoon sees him running, full tilt, head bent and some object wrapped in rough sackcloth under his arm. He is alone, he is desperate, he is being pursued, and he is still smiling, and as he careens around a corner, he finds some hapless soul and presses upon them the sackclothed object, with a gasped, "Here! Hold this--" And that hapless soul's only choice is to take the object, heavy, square, under the wrappings, take it and follow, as Scipio slaps them on the arm. "And hurry! Follow me, quickly!"
A shout from around the corner should do the rest, to spur his new partner in crime to action. Pursuit.
[ il suno del silenzio - a tavern, at night ]
A tavern is for playing.
Scipio's skill at the lute is legendary. Not here, in Skyhold. Not yet, anyways. In Antiva City, he knows only praise. Dita d'oro, and not just for his skill at the lute. The tavern at Skyhold is usually noisy, full of people, and warmth--and drink, most important of all, that which attracts people the most.
Scipio, installed at a corner table, plays. Not for anyone, and not for coin, but people stop to listen anyways. He can talk as he plays, and carries on a conversation without missing a note. He strums harder or softer by turns, when the topic requires punctuation or emphasis, plucks out light little melodies like lace at the edge of a shirtsleeve when the conversation turns sad.
When he sings, he sings under his breath. The words are all in Antivan, but the tune is wistful. A man who would rather be un gorrión, un basque--nonsense, even if you understand it, but pretty nonsense.
As the night goes on, as the crowd thins out and he is more assured of being alone, Scipio sets his lute aside and gets out some little treasure out of the pouch at his belt. The songs were to be shared. This is not, whatever it is. A secret. He should not look at it here, but he can't help himself, as he lays out four gold teeth on the scarred tabletop. One, two, three, and the fourth he keeps in his palm, to admire more closely.
Que bella. For teeth, anyways.
- OR - just write me something and I'll tag it.
no subject
She already has a place picked out for herself. Amongst the many advantages of being a dwarva is your size. Oh, sure, people mock at it, they jeer at it, they make snide comments about not being able to reach high shelves, but being small and strong makes you an unpredictable fighter and an impossibly adept escape artist. So without a backwards glance, she alights up the scaffolding, onto a high shelf that easily bears her weight, and slips into an empty crate. Within seconds she's completely concealed. Which is good, because there are footsteps out in the yard, Scipio's pursuer pushing the door open...
no subject
Further reflection is hastily postponed, as the door begins to open. In her crate, Kitty will hear four things, nearly at once: a thud (which is the stolen box being thrown, chucked behind another crate), and then a scrape (which is a chair dragged quickly across the floor), and then a quiet slap that, if she has a very good ear, she might be able to make out as a deck of cards.
And then the door slams open.
Out in the open, the chair falls as Scipio jumps to his feet with a yelp. Kitty will have to assume that it's him. It doesn't sound very like him. Younger, more frightened-- and Orlesian.
"Sacr-- This area, it is off-limits!" Thickly accented, indignant, still with a strain of fear in the higher regions of his inflection. The brute at the door stares a moment in--confusion? shock? surprise? in total blankness? it doesn't matter, for he goes on, in a growl:
"You."
This may end badly.
no subject
But she wonders if Scipio has a plan. He's using that affected voice, after all. And he doesn't sound like himself. So Kitty herself - she has a plan as well, but she doesn't know if it'll be better than Scipio's. And if she puts it into action, then she'll learn a little bit less about how he operates, and he'll learn a little more about her. So she'll wait.
For now. If there's the sound of punching, she is absolutely going to step in. She isn't going to let him get thrashed. Even if he probably does deserve it.
no subject
But Rafa isn't here, and Kitty is not observing but is tucked away, clever little treasure that she is--and so Scipio is on his own.
"Please," and it comes out weakly. He raises his hands. "Please, ser. Peace. I want no trouble. This place, it is, eh, forbidden," but the man steps in closer, and what a hulking great boulder of a man he is. Scipio shrinks back another step. (Good.)
"You think you can fool me, with that accent?" The man's laugh is ugly, as is his face. Up closer, Scipio can count his pockmarks. It would be a count that would need four hands at least. "You're a thief, little man. Where is it?"
Dry-mouthed and quailing, Scipio swallows. "Wh-Where is-- please, ser--"
The man shoves the chair he had recently vacated. It crashes against the crates. One of the legs splinters off and clatters across the floor. With another yelp, Scipio drops to a crouch. His grip on the cards fails him and they scatter with a faint slippery sound, slap against the floor--
"Please," Scipio says, again, louder this time, pleading. He throws his hands over his head, claiming surrender and begging for mercy, both at once. "PLEASE--"
The man's boot is nearly in his reach. His face is turned down, but Scipio can see him all the same. Almost. So long as Kitty stays put, and the box stays behind the crate--
no subject
She does stay put. She doesn't lift so much as a hair from the box. What she does instead is she opens her mouth, and she lets out a bloodcurdling scream, full voice, full volume.
If it were a quieter noise, the source of it could perhaps be identified. There would be a direction from which it came. If she had stirred, or bumped the side of the box. But with a noise that loud, let out that ferociously, it echoes off the narrow stone walls of the storeroom, ricochets back and forth and back again, rattling off the shelves and the door and seeming to come from everywhere at once.
And then she's silent again. Doesn't move. This place is forbidden, Scipio had said, and Kitty hopes that he continues on in that vein and convinces the man that this place is...haunted. Something. Scares him into not stabbing him. Something.
no subject
But he would not be the man that he is with the career that he has, if he could not role with punches (or however it is said). Anything that takes the brute's eyes off of him is welcome, and certainly the scream distracts. When Scipio looks, up the man is looking all around the store-room, his mouth dropped open.
"Andraste's ass," he beings, but Scipio cuts him off with a loud hissed, "SHHHHH!"
And it works. The man stares back at him, but this time,he looks uncertain. Still colored bright with anger, yes. But uncertain. And uncertainty is what Scipio can get his fingers under, pry it back--
"Not. Another. Word." Each said quieter than the last. Crouched on the floor, Scipio shoots the walls and ceiling a furtive, frantic look. A man afraid. "You must be very still, ser. Take one step backwards. The spirit here, ser, she is an angry one. A hungry one. Already she is disturbed. Please, ser," he adds, desperately, again cutting the man off before he can add anything, "you must listen to me. Or else I cannot help you to survive. She will suck your eyes out of your skull, she will strip the flesh from your bones, and boil your ba-- aah, already, she is stirring--do you hear her?"
Pointedly, he pauses. Take your cue, Kitty.
no subject
Oh, right -
She tilts her head back just a little bit, and lets her vocal cords hang just a little slack, and draws air in across them so that it makes a horrible grinding moaning sort of noise. Really just ugly. She lets that go on for a moment as she considers how to enhance this performance, and thinks about how she can use her mouth to make noises as she does this horrible grinding noise, then decides some threatening words will do quite nicely. Let's see - Oh, how about some dreadful poetry? So she improvises something suitably scary, intoning:
"With dreadful groan
I haunt this stone
Come near to me -
I'll gnaw your bones."
Which probably would earn moderate acclaim as far as improvised-threatening-ghost-poetry goes. It's cliched, sure, and there really is no good reason why a ghost would bother to rhyme when it could just descend upon its prey with a horrible yowl. Her own experience with horrible murderous spirits protecting a tomb consisted of nasty threats, and cruelty, but certainly no rhyming. But once you accept that this is a spirit that's perhaps a little bit whimsical, and perhaps enjoys a bit of traditional poetry, really not bad overall.
no subject
Good. The rhyming is especially nice. It is so good, in fact, that Scipio punctuates her closing line with a horrible shriek, and throws himself flat on his face. The man stumbles backwards, staring from the prone figure before him to the room at large, trying to make sense of what's going on around him. He must, somewhere at the back of his head, know that this is not real, that it is a trick of some kind, but in the moment, that is so hard to believe. The little storeroom is so very dark, and the crates loom large around them, disappearing up into the dark rafters--and Scipio is crying now, sobbing--
"Please, sir, please! Don't linger here, in-- aaaAAAAA!"
His sob becomes another shriek, and he flips over onto his back, limbs thrown akimbo, eyes wide open and staring at nothing. Slowly, painfully, he arches up off of the floor, a man possessed--
"She," his only word, a hiss, and then, "her," and his eyes roll back into his head and he begins to convulse, one hand twisted into a claw and reaching, reaching up, reaching to point at the man--
Who turns and runs from the storeroom without looking back. The door slams shut behind him. Right on cue, Scipio slumps, like a puppet with all its strings cut.
After a beat, he smiles at the ceiling, with his eyes closed.
no subject
Still, for good measure, she calls out to him, "Are you dead? Did I frighten you to death?" And then, without waiting for an answer, she grins and leans her chin on the edge of the crate quite comfortably. And she continues on, "What would you have done if I hadn't screamed? I wasn't sure if you had a plan or if me helping you out was your plan."
no subject
Not that the Angry One would have killed him. Not that he could not have gotten out of it, one way or another. Kitty's help had proved a quicker solution, that is all, and far more theatrical. Always good.
Scipio does not rise from the floor, but puts his arms behind his head and smiles up at her. All at ease, without any blood at all. "I had a plan. But I am not a man who does not seize upon the better plan, when he sees it. Or hears it, in this case. You are very good!"
no subject
She takes a moment to study him, meeting his eyes. Now that all the drama has died down, she can't restrain her curiosity. She asks what's most interesting to her. "What did you steal?"
look, i'm doing it, i'm tagging a log even though for some reason our other thread is easier
He huffs out a breath, a man relieved. The high of the chase and the lie is ebbing, leaving him liquid and boneless and happy. A drink would be good right now. He meets Ktity's gaze, with a smile.
"If you buy me a drink, I will tell you."
Action tags are always easier and I'm proud of you but I'm always proud of you and proud to know you
She surveys him, her nose dipping down just a little bit. And a little smile picks at the corners of her mouth, peeking through her severity.
"Tell me and buy me a drink, as a reward for thinking so well on my feet."
ok but before i say "same", how's Elvis
"An honest girl would not set so cutthroat a price, I think," he tells her, with certain mournfulness. "A price of the truth and a drink? This is the price of a girl who is clever. A girl who is cleverer than she says to be. My," and at last, his depression lifts from him as he opens his eyes and smiles back at her, "my favorite sort of girl."
And with a brisk hup and a gymnast's ease, Scipio flips to his feet and tugs down his shirt.
"Come along then, clever cat."
probably a little drunk
So after that moment of watchfulness, she decides. She smiles, and then nods, and doesn't argue. Unfortunately, she perhaps isn't quite so clever as she seems, because: the moment she goes to stand up and step out of the box, she finds herself -
"Oh. Uhm - "
The amusement fades from her face. Her knee is wedged in too securely. She's - a bit stuck.
"You can go ahead, and I can catch up to you."