The Days That Bind Us 2: Still Bound

[exequy]

WHO: Mages, anyone else who cares
WHAT: Give us liberty or give us potatoes, or: a most noble strike for a most noble purpose, or: pissy mage babies throw a tantrum
WHEN: 14-19 Cloudreach 9:44
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: This is for consolidating RP regarding the strike. Your character doesn't have to be striking themselves to top-level or tag around, as long as it's tangentially related.

The morning of Cloudreach 14, with minimal fanfare, a significant fraction of the Circle mages working with the Inquisition across Thedas stops showing up for work. On the other hand, a significant fraction doesn't stop. But the not-working fraction is significant enough to cause problems, and for the Inquisition to not delay or prolong the discussions already set to take place at Skyhold with a few representatives of the aggrieved mages and a number of Templar and Chantry representatives.

In the Gallows, most of the mages who are refusing to work relocate—voluntarily, unless being scowled at by Kostos Averesch qualifies as being forced against one's will—to the dusty recruits' quarters in the former Templar tower for an indefinite, politicized slumber party, featuring uncomfortable bunk beds and a lot of unseasoned starches. For a cause.

ooc | Remember that striking characters are generally losing access to confidential information, Inquisition equipment or materials, and any amenities, comforts, or privileges beyond the "plain potatoes for dinner" and "not thrown out into the streets" level.

Comments

Benedict

[altusimperius]

I. HOW EXCITING

Bene barely works anyway, so going on strike for him is more about being a part of something, hanging out with some of the people who have been decent to him since his stay with the Inquisition, and ...continuing to not do work. He's all smiles and enthusiasm despite not having a clear idea of what the problem is, but to be fair, this is the most exciting thing that's happened in his life in months that didn't involve getting thrown in a dungeon.

II. HOW TERRIBLE

His enthusiasm only lasts until they arrive at their new temporary quarters. The sight of the probably-bug-infested bunks is enough to wipe the smile right off his face, and he looks around expectantly at the others, waiting for the punchline. Surely he can't be forced to sleep here. Or eat that.

This was a huge mistake.

III. HOW MYSTERIOUS

Wildcard! Do what you must.

ii. how sweet it is

[exequy]

Kostos notices the change in him approximately immediately, but it takes him much longer to care enough to say anything about it. He claims a bed, puts his things away so no one can even begin to get the impression he's here for less than the long haul, takes care of a few more urgent things, and then winds up standing near Benedict, which means talking to him is convenient enough to bother.

He says, "What?"

As in, what is making your face like that.

[keenly]

Colin sits by Bene and passes him a bowl of potato soup. It's not very fancy, but it's tasty.

"How are you holding up?" he asks, trying not to give in to the temptation to snicker at spoiled rich people. They never had the chance to thrive in these sorts of conditions, so of course Bene looks quite lost.

Inessa

[circleprodigy]

Recruit's quarters are less of a hardship on Inessa than the sudden free time. A small, uncomfortable bed and no real privacy? Eh, she's dealt with worse in her life and not all that far in the past. However, she finds herself more than once heading to her office automatically, only to stop herself from that routine before she can be accused of not committing.

But regardless of the mages' issues with the Inquisition, she's still a Grey Warden and those duties she plans to continue fulfilling. So when the slight elven woman isn't sleeping worse than usual or attempting to each those plain potatoes (and probably letting Garahel have most of that), she'll be up in the roost. Potato demands careful attention, after all, and as a griffon keeper, the others are her under her care as well.

Garahel is, naturally, following Inessa everywhere that isn't the roost. So, enjoy some quiet doggy snoring.

[altusimperius]

Giving Garahel the widest of berths is Benedict, who will never be used to mabari. Dogs are supposed to be horrible little yappy things that his mother's friends brings around, not monsters bigger than wolves and drippy and near hairless. It's horrible, and any time the dog has approached him, Bene has rapidly stepped back and away from him, scared in that instinctive animal way that one would be if in the sights of a bear.

Audra

[winterwinds]

Audra is taking the strike better than some, seeing it as an opportunity to catch up on some reading and writing, as well as knitting. In the afternoons she can usually be found jotting things down in a notebook, nothing work-related of course, things entirely for her own benefit.

The knitting is something that takes up the rest of her time, humming happily as she counts stitches. If someone looks bored or frustrated she'll give them a bright smile and offer to teach them, or ask what their favorite color is so she can add it to the strike quilt she's knitting.

Or she'll take a break from that and bang out a quick pair of socks.

[circleprodigy]

It's sometime early in the evening when Inessa returns to their temporary quarters, letting Garahel wander while she gets settled in as long as he's not being a pest. The mabari pauses by Audra and wags his tail at her, looking hopeful and waiting until he has some sign before being an affectionate cuddlebug. Meanwhile, his mistress emerges from behind the changing screen and heads over to the stand where her enchanted teapot and cups are set.

"Would you care for a cup, Audra?"

[keenly]

Colin sits by Audra and passes her a plate of gnocchi carbonara. And when the plate is passed off, he does something he would never do with anyone else and touches his cheek to her shoulder affectionately.

"What are you making?"

gervais vauquelin.

[dissono]

( there is a certain air of ruefulness about gervais as he joins the rest of his fellows in their probably temporary new quarters. timing has meant that effectively, the first thing he does as a member of the inquisition is 'refuse to work'—it isn't quite what he'd envisioned, when he'd first set out for kirkwall. nor did he envision, when packing up his things in the central tower, that he would be arriving accompanied by wren's milk-white mabari; her attentiveness at his heels, more than his decision to strike, briefly pricks at his conscience on the way down the stairs.

he hadn't actually intended to steal her dog.

that it was purely unintentional canine sedition is something of a consolation, but in any case, when he puts his belongings—largely unremarkable and for now still few enough to fit in an easily carried satchel—down on an unoccupied bed, preudame clambers up on after it, turns in a meaningful circle, and lays down. he scratches her behind the ears, hums something vaguely approving, and sets himself up with a desk-tray at the other end, for the purpose of maintaining correspondence.

if preudame comes increasingly, incrementally closer during his writing, he makes no objection. nor does he object to anyone else's company. )

[exequy]

[ Part of one of the jobs Kostos is currently jeopardizing involves knowing who everyone in the Gallows is—important for knowing who shouldn't be here in the first place, among other things—so he doesn't have to ask Gervais' name. But neither job requires keeping up with animals, so it's only on his third pass across the room during the first day that he stops and frowns at the dog.

It's a gentler frown than he aims at most people. ]

Is that Commander Coupe's dog?

[ Gentler for now. If the dog has been spent to spy, or will shortly be grounds for accusations of sinister dognapping, he'll reconsider the severity. ]

[foundmyselfagain]

I wasn't aware that we were adding dogs to the ranks of discontented mages. But I suppose once we let Fereldens in, it became anything goes.

[ Not that Gareth minds the dog. Whatever comforts helped make the stay here easier.

He plops in a bunk across from Gervais, a cheerful, almost careless smile on his face, like this was a social club, rather than a gathering of rebels. ]

You just came here, right? Promise, we aren't usually doing this. Hopefully, we won't have to do it again. I mean--That's probably a pipe dream, because, yanno. [ A vague hand wave. ] Ran and funded by people who never gave a shit until we made enough noise they couldn't ignore it. But, hey! Here we are, back to making noise. Maybe they'll hear us again.

kostos averesch.

[exequy]

Leader is a strong word, one that calls to mind people who don't tuck themselves into back corners and look as unapproachable as they can for as much of the day as possible, but nonetheless: if anyone striking has questions, he's available to answer them; if anyone discusses organization or what's next in his vicinity he'll drift closer to provide curt input; and if anyone stops by to judge them, with authority or not, he'll meet them at the door, impassive and impassable.

The rest of the time he demonstrates a pretty remarkable aptitude for doing nothing. Or at least appearing to do nothing. He passes entire hours lying flat on his back and engaging a wisp above him in what might have been a series of staring contests, if wisps had eyes and if the stillness weren't occasionally interrupted by changes to Kostos' expression. (Little ones. Don't get excited.) Whole half hours are dedicated to maintaining balls of fire or ice or electricity between his hands at a steady size, as long as no one startles him, in which case the size might become abruptly less steady. The raven that's frequently perched on the bed frame is kind of similar. It's quiet unless startled, in which case it might fly directly into someone's face, or into a wall, and Kostos might kill somebody. So leave the bird alone.

He reads The True Threat of Magic (ironically, maybe, or maybe not) from cover to cover, and then whatever else he can borrow from those in the room without taking from the now off-limits Inquisition library. Never mind that its shelves are filled with Circle mages' words printed in books purchased by mages' work but, somehow, not considered theirs. He doesn't leave the room often, but he does visit the chapel every day, instead of his usual once a week, a little because he feels he owes someone an apology for all of this even if he doesn't intend to stop, and a lot because nobody tries to talk to you when you're praying.

[supersonic]

Kostos has been a bit difficult to miss, through all this. Pietro, a little easier -- hardly with the Inquisition long enough for his now-pointed absence to be noticed, but he'd been at the meeting all the same, full of opinions he'd largely refrained from voicing if not kept off his face. It hadn't seemed an ideal time for an extended greeting, nor had he really expected one, but he'd been there. And now that the Inquisition has (inevitably, in Pietro's opinion) failed to acquiesce to their demands, he's here. He's moved into the other tower with the rest of them and committed himself, as conspicuously as possible, to doing nothing.

He isn't as good at it as Kostos, though. Never had been. You would think, after the number of nights he'd spent confined to a solitary room for having taken this or that cheap shot at a Templar, he'd have developed better coping mechanisms, but the truth is less simple. He can lie on his back for long stretches, arm tucked pseudo-casually behind his head, staring up at the bunk above him and stubbornly maintaining the appearance, at least from a distance, that he could do this all day. That his mind isn't going a mile a minute and faster the longer he's still. But he hasn't got a wisp; he's got a handful of knots on the wooden slats of the bunk above him for entertainment, and the edge of the mattress beneath him, its seam intermittently caught between three jittery fingers and tugged. Picked. Smoothed down again.

"Remind me again why we're waiting for the Inquisition to do anything," he starts, in lieu of Hello, or perhaps Glad you're not dead, or whatever, "Instead of simply fixing this problem ourselves?"

[foundmyselfagain]

Kostos appearing unapproachable has never actually stopped Gareth from approaching him, and that certainly hasn't changed since they went from sharing a two-person room to sharing a many-person room. He's not constantly bothering Kostos, of course. He has his own books to read, people who can actually hold conversations to talk to, all sorts of busy things on his schedule.

On a day when that busy schedule manages to find an opening, Kostos is greeting by Gareth's head, hanging upside down from the bunk above him.

"I've been thinking about it--about the other mages who are not just refusing to strike, but are trying to help the Inquisition take up our slack--which, good luck trying to read my handwriting, douchelord." He laughs, then decides that's not pleasant to do upside down, and briefly disappears, before hopping off the bunk.

"Anyway. I wish there was something we could do to--punish sounds so harsh." That's exactly what he means, but it sounds harsh. "Penalize. Some way to penalize them. But they all probably want to keep their phylacteries, so I'm not sure how." A frown settles on his face as he crosses his arms. "But it's not fair. It's not fair they're going around trying to sabotage us."

[faithlikeaseed]

Myr's acutely attuned to notions of appropriateness and knows very well he doesn't belong anywhere near the striking mages. (Even if he's moved his own place of residence to the bunk room in the other tower, out of a strange piece of solidarity; he isn't striking because he knows his own limits, not for a promise of comfort or security.)

So this happens out in the hall, somewhere, in passing. Perhaps on one of those trips to the chapel, one of them headed toward and the other back, and Myr halts as he recognizes a tread learned over days of traveling together.

"Enchanter Averesch? Here." He's a pair of books in hand (his own, from Hasmal and not the library) with a sweet roll balanced on top of them (from Lowtown, not the kitchens) and he offers the whole lot to the other mage.

Nothing planned about it--that's his own lunch, there--just a spontaneous impulse to reach out, ease a perceived burden. Whether they're on opposite sides of a political issue or not, Kostos is a friend.

Colin

[keenly]

Just because the shop is closed and they only have potatoes doesn't mean Colin has stopped cooking, and he is determined to get by without borrowing resources from anyone within the Inquisition who is not on strike. He taps into his own store of spices and even leaves the Gallows to buy fresh eggs and gather spring onions. He has his own flour, of course. His mother could make different meals out of a single ingredient like it was nothing. One time they ate on the same sack of turnips for over a week. They weren't fond of turnips by the end, but they felt like they had variety anyway.

The first day features an egg-and-potato omelet, spicy pan-fried potatoes, and gnocchi carbonara. The next day has potato cakes, creamy potato soup, potato dumplings, et cetera. He feels like he has to make a point--they can all do without and are serious about this, but they're also not beggars starving without the Inquisition.

When not cooking, he might be sitting in the quietest spot he can find, eyes closed and breath deep. He might also be reading from a tome entitled Kiss It and Make It Better, an unfortunately-titled book about spirit healing. Colin likes its unpretentious tone.

[extraverse]

Ignis has figured out by now it's not his place to ask Colin if he wants help with this. He can understand the desire to stake your own claim and want to do things on your own - especially when others think you incapable. Colin would have to basically pay more attention that Ignis didn't accidentally ruin the dish given the unfamiliar surroundings anyway.

He came by the strike mostly to see if there was something he could do but as the mages seem to have everything under control he was about to leave and give them their space when he smelled Colin's meal of the day.

Despite his desire to give them room to make their point, he does need to come over and compliment the chief. "Is that gnocchi carbonara I smell?" he asks, a note of approval in his tone. "Once again your talent for making the most of the resources you have shines through." He at least hopes he's guessing right that the man behind the meal is Colin. It feels like something Colin would make.

[samahl]

Cyril is stuck between desperately wanting to help and not wanting to overstep. He's not a mage, but he cares about people who are. He wants to support their cause, but not seem overbearing. So he asks what they want or need from them and provides that.

He's in the middle of doing that when he sees Colin enjoying a funnily named tome. He can't help but feel a bit of pride at seeing Colin here. When he first met Colin, he had been hiding the status of his magic ability, and now he's here. He knows he personally didn't have anything to do with that, so it's the sort of pride you feel when you see friends coming into their own.

He comes over to Colin and tilts his head a bit. "That title is something else, isn't it?" he asks. It seems like the kind of book he'd want Sam to read.

[coiledscales]

"That is... certainly a colorful title," Alacruun comments on Colin's book. He's passing through, chatting with a few strikers and seeing what they're up to. He's notably one of the mages who hasn't gone on strike, but he still wanders down to see how they're getting on. And to see if there's any interesting information he can find out.

"What's it on? Romance? Healing? A little of both?"

If there is one thing that Alacruun likes, it's reading.

Anders

[justice_is_blond]

1. Dusty Quarters

He's not working for the Inquisition right now... but that doesn't mean he's not working at all. Anders wanders up from Darktown and plops down on the bottom bunk he'd claimed earlier with a grunt. They're exactly as hard as he remembers and his rear does not appreciate it. With a sigh he works his boots off, dropping them by the side. There's a nice warm room upstairs with his cats and his husband and he's down here, by choice. Will it make a difference? He doesn't know. But he has to try.

And in the meantime, he'll push his boots under the bed and look around.

2. No Rest For The...

Anders has pulled some books out of his pack and he's making notes on something, frowning and writing. Every now and then he absent-mindedly pats the tuxedo cat that's sitting next to him, leashed and trying to close his books and eat his paper. Just because he's on strike doesn't mean he can lounge around; he's a Grey Warden too and they at least have never tried to get phylacteries on their mages.

1

[pinprick]

It's past Nathaniel's bedtime when he finally sits up from bed in their room upstairs and sighs deeply. The dog and cats are doing their best to make up for the loss of Anders, but even they seem to miss him. After sitting forlorn a few minutes, he finally pulls back the covers because this is a problem that can be fixed. It's not like Anders took another trip far off somewhere. He's only downstairs.

The door to the temporary quarters opens quietly, Nathaniel padding in to find that normal people don't go to bed as early as he does, so he's not waking anyone up by entering. He carries a pillow under one arm and Lady trots at his heels, tongue wagging happily. Seeing Anders, he smiles.

"Room in the bunk for a mate?" he asks, feeling completely pathetic for not being able to sleep without Anders.

Gareth

[foundmyselfagain]

It's probably not much of a surprise that Gareth not only seems to be unbothered by the change in circumstances, but he seems to enjoy it. Little of the drop in quality of life is anything new for him, he grew up sleeping on the uncomfortable bunk beds in the other tower--though he is truly glad that he's not being stuck in those ones.

He's happy to chatter away with whoever is nearby and not deathly unwilling to engage in conversation, either about the strike, or whatever strikes his fancy. But most of the time, he can be found reclining on his shitty bed, peacefully reading a book. There's a stack of them nearby, which he's happy to loan out to any other bored mages.

The one noticeable exception to his comfort seems to be anything involving undressing. He is never seen changing clothes, or taking a bath, but simply disappears,and reappears washed and in a fresh outfit.

Not one to willingly confine himself to any one space in the Gallows, there are several times that Gareth wanders off, to go to the city proper. He doesn't spend long there, just enough to grab another book, and enough salt and butter to make at least one meal of the boring starches less dreary.

If asked, he's also willing to pick up items for anyone who doesn't feel like making the trek.

[coiledscales]

Alacruun isn't on strike, but he does come over to poke at the other mages who have decided to put down their staves and stop working. He personally feels a bit detached from it all - after all, this isn't his world and while he thinks that the Chantry's attempts at controlling magic are woefully misguided, he also sees no reason to give up his own comfort for people he doesn't particularly know or care about. Still, he's a relatively familiar face, the qunari usually passing through, chatting to a few people, or just observing. At least if no one chases him out.

He approaches Gareth while he's reading, an air of curiosity about him.

"Are you reading anything interesting?" He mostly wnats to know if there's anything worthwhile in those pages. Magical theory or history or information.

"Or is it some sort of mindless drivel...?"

[wythersake]

It wears his nerves to gather like this.

He knows it's irrational, which only makes it the more irritating, and that's why he’s spent the better part of the strike thus far laid out flat on his back — one hand shading his eyes and the other crossed over his chest like a very dramatic mummy.

"Tell me those aren't Marisol's," The books. The cracks between his fingers widen to admit a view; he sweeps a languid hand in the direction of Gareth's stack. "I may need to borrow one."

To make a more convenient blindfold. Too bad the Hasmali isn't about.

(It wears his nerves; it will wear at others. Gareth's grown, and tended by more responsible parties of late. That doesn't preclude checking in.)

INBOX

[galvanising]

[ Nell is obviously not actually present--off at Skyhold negotiating--but she has very deliberately done her best to position herself as leader of this strike, so even if there's no sign saying so, questions and complaints can be directed to her crystal. ]

hello

[justnice]

Someone —

[ kostos, but he doesn't do names or make eye contact with anyone who's seen him practicing with the broom. that's alright. probably kostos is used to that. ]

— Said you're in charge of all this, then.