OPEN | We don’t have to fall from grace

[keenly]

WHO: Colin, with a few closed starters for Nathaniel
WHAT: Open/catch-all log for May
WHEN: Bloomingtide
WHERE: Kirkwall
NOTES: Starters inside. Let me know if you want something.

General Store

Colin has come to love this place. After six months here, it has come to smell like cloves and cedarwood. All the spices he uses in cooking have seasoned the wood panels. It really feels like it belongs to him now, even if the property belongs to the Inquisition courtesy of the City of Kirkwall.

At the moment, he is baking rather than cooking, this time more for therapy than anything else. There is something meditative about kneading dough. It's impossible not to slow down when doing this, be in the moment, stop worrying. A simple life is all he ever wanted, and that's what making bread means. It is a staple--easy and simple to make but vital to the function of one's house and therefore empowering. This is important work.

Gallows Garden

In one of the gardens, Colin sits on a patch of grass with his face turned upward toward the sun, eyes shut. He breathes deeply and evenly, and neither peeks nor starts when footsteps are heard. He knows you're there, but he's not thinking about you. He's emptying his mind. Somehow, the feel of sunlight works like a mantra, a white noise he can feel. His mother would say it's the Antivan in him that makes him love sunlight. Colin thinks it's the mage in him. For ten years, he wasn't allowed very much sunlight. Now, he can have his fill of it. He can hoard it all greedily and no one will know the difference. No one has the right to stop him or demand for him to justify this indulgence, or ask who said he could spend so much time sitting and doing nothing in the sunlight.

So his brown skin gets browner by the day, dark hair developing faint caramel highlights, but most importantly, some of his nervous mannerisms are being smoothed out. He can be seen leaving the garden looking, and feeling, lighter than air.

The Market

"I want the one that spit at me," Colin can be heard saying. It makes sense because he's at a clam stall. It's about five o'clock in the morning and he has just decided what lunch will be today. A merchant takes a scoop and digs through the clams. Several spit in different directions, each stream of water two or three feet long.

"You want to eat that one?" the merchant laughs, dumping clams into Colin's outstretched bag.

"Oh yes," Colin says firmly, smiling wickedly.

When all is done and paid for, Colin starts back to the Gallows. After a few paces he stops, looking at a shirt hanging at another merchant's stall. It is beautiful--bright, hand-painted silk. It is also expensive. Far less expensive are the tiny bits of jewelry at the same stall. He starts looking over a tray with numerous earrings, clearly distracted from his task. One clam gives one final, defiant spit before resigning itself to its parched fate.

Darktown Clinic

Maybe you are a volunteer here. Maybe you are a patient. Either way, Colin is here after work several times a week, and he isn't just here giving out potions. Here, he practices real healing magic, as someone who barely practices magic at all otherwise. This month, Colin is giving out Adalia's rain boots to every scavenger presenting with trench foot.

Of course, Darktown's shady reputation comes from somewhere. Today, a man sidles up to Colin as he works and claps an arm around his shoulders, starting to talk about how good a man he is and how he's making a real difference. He talks loudly, and as soon as Colin knows what he's up to (and he lived in Denerim--it doesn't take long), he shoves him away.

"Don't touch me," he growls, patting down his own pockets and finding--yes. Yes, that is his purse gone. He shouldn't have brought it here.

Annnnnd the man is already running away. Colin follows as far as the door with a sigh. Using magic to stop a pickpocket seems excessive, and there wasn't that much money in there, and...sigh.

Okay. He's over it.

Comments

Kostos

[keenly]

The lessons have been interesting, if a bit tricky to show up for some days at first. But it's the meditation that has really done the trick. Not only for Colin's control, but his anxiety has gone from a ball-and-chain to a braided anklet--always there, but no longer keeping him in one place. It has been damn near miraculous.

At the beginning of the lesson--not the end--Colin twists his hands, not looking anxious so much as nervous. You know, in that way that's partly excitement and partly fear that he'll be told no.

"Um. Enchanter?"

[exequy]

After a beat of hesitation, and with some poorly-hidden reluctance, Kostos says, "You do not have to call me that."

The reluctance isn't personal, and has nothing to do with a desire for formality in this particular professional and social arrangement. Relationship. Whatever. Rather: he was very proud of the title, when he first earned it, and now it's a trapping of a system he's spent years helping others destroy. It doesn't fit well anymore. Like a very fine robe he's grown out of. Or, in this case, spilled blood all over, with no way to wash it out.

He looks up only as an afterthought, pausing his arrangement of books and items on the table. (Not all of them are for Colin. Not even most of them. In his brief time as an instructor, Kostos had been cautioned more than once by his elders about using meditation and focus exercises as a way to make all of the children he was meant to be minding shut up and leave him alone for a while—not something he intends here, with Colin, but he's nonetheless in the habit of trying to get his own work done while students practice being still and grounded.)

—looks up, and notes the expression on the young man's face, and inclines his head in invitation to continue.

[keenly]

To Colin, the title is a sign of respect for a teacher. He's not stubborn about using it, but he is persistent. He wants to show Kostos that he occupies an important role in Colin's life, and this word defines it. There's a moment's hesitation between when Colin's lips part and the words come out. Running through what he has to say one more time, to make sure he has it properly organized in his thoughts.

"I've been learning healing from Anders. For a few months, I've been searching the Fade for a benevolent spirit willing to work with me. Recently, one answered. Not to say yes, but to say maybe. It gave me tests to prove my values align with its own, but I don't want to move forward without asking your advice."

Simon

[keenly]

Meet me in the courtyard in the templar tower at seven. I have something to ask of you in confidence.

--Colin

When Simon arrives, Colin is pacing the length of the courtyard. It has been some time since they spoke, and Colin has used it to...consider. Think. Adjust. He is doing all three of those. And he has decided that this is to be a two-way street. Compassion cannot have meant for him to merely bestow some manner of divine mercy upon this templar. It wants empathy. It wants understanding, and a willingness to let go of the past. To see that Colin does not, unlike most, put up imaginary barriers between his sort of mortal being and Simon's. Compassion has to know that Colin will not misuse its magic and make it into a demon. So Colin must show it what sort of man he is.

He stops and looks up when Simon arrives. And swallows. It's not the petrified terror that seized him before, just the knowledge that this is going to be a long, difficult afternoon. He gestures to a small table nearby. There is no food on it, only a pitcher of cold lemonade and two glasses. Kirkwall is both a port city and surrounded by mountains, so both lemons and ice can be found.

[paladingus]

For the life of him, Simon doesn't know what Colin could want. He has no reason to say no, and no especial inclination to, when Colin's never offended him, exactly, or done him wrong--but it's not going to stop him from racking his brain to figure out what this could be about, and fretting quietly about what he might be asked to compromise or promise against his better judgment.

The war isn't over, as Kostos has been so very quick and harsh to remind him, and he doesn't know how it will end. He doesn't know anymore how he wants it to.

But he arrives at the appointed time, just a couple minutes late--he's taken the time to change out of his armor, when otherwise he might not have. His gaze is just as wary as he scans Colin's face, but the lemonade is more than welcome after a warm day in full plate, and he arranges his bulk as neatly as he can at the small table.

"You've been well, I hope."

[keenly]

"I have." Colin pours Simon's glass first, taking his time. "You?"

He garnishes Simon's lemonade with a sprig of mint before pouring his own. He wants Simon to know this isn't a confrontation. Some people scoff at the act of buttering people up, but it serves an important function in society. It makes people feel safe and welcome, and it begins negotiation. And discussion. The sharing of stories. It helps repair friendships. Hopefully. Now that Simon is here, Colin has a quiet feeling that it's all going to be okay. The hard part was making the decision and getting him here. Everything else is just words.

Anders

[keenly]

They are wrapping up the clinic late at night--before midnight, thankfully--and in the darkness, it becomes clear that Colin's chest is glowing.

Just a little. There seems to be something small dangling behind his shirt that he hasn't realized has been activated.

[justice_is_blond]

A glow around a mage isn't the most unusual thing... but it's not usually at their chest. It tends to be the hands or the whole body, and so while the light doesn't initially catch Anders' eye as odd, once he's seen it it's pretty clear something is off.

And he has a hunch as to what the something is.

"Wearing a new accessory?" he asks, attempting a light tone.

[keenly]

Colin's hand immediately goes to his chest, pressing the phylactery against his ribs. Then he looks down and peeks under his hand. He doesn't say anything, but he glances around to make sure they're alone before pulling the bottle out by the string it's on. The bottle is wrapped tightly in twine, one strand of which has shifted enough to expose glass and the glow behind it. He deftly goes about fixing the problem, still saying nothing.

Ignis

[keenly]

Finally, they are starting these little meet-ups after so long of talking about them. The illness, phylactery business, and the strike have all stolen the last few months away, but now they are in the kitchen. The candles are safely away from where they could be knocked against. The kitchen is effectively Ignis-proofed. Now it's to start.

"I've a number of staple ingredients to choose from," he tells Ignis. "What sort of thing would you like to make?"

[extraverse]

Ignis is grateful to Colin for doing this. Being able to cook again would at least help him to feel as if he's regained something of what was lost.

"I was hoping to help a friend make a meal for someone dear to them. Do you think we could start with a meat pie?" That was perhaps a bit advanced, but making a crust and ingredients for a filling could feel like an accomplishment.

[keenly]

"No reason not to." Colin shrugs and starts arranging ingredients. "Making the dough goes by feel anyway. I've got jamon from Antiva here, it's a very thin-sliced dry-cured ham. Very intense, mixes well with other meats. Now, right in front of you is the flour. The shorter jar beside it is the lard. I'll get you some cold water."

There is the sound of water pouring into a cup.

Alban

[keenly]

Colin looks up as Alban enters. Not everyone in Darktown is wicked or even particularly unhappy, which is why it's nice to see Alban's particular disposition step into the room.

"Good day, serah," he says with a smile, drying his hands from washing them. "How are we feeling?"

[exhausted_quarry]

The bearlike man's easy grin widens as Colin greets him. "Alban," he corrects, as he's done every time the young man grants him the courtesy of a title-- which is every time he comes to the shop. It's never stopped Colin, but it'll never stop him either. "And well enough," he replies, although the light wince every time he rests any weight on his twisted leg says otherwise. "Nothing a little less rain won't set right. You've not got any o' that in the shop, have you?"

[keenly]

"A rain-stopper?" Colin asks, amused. "No. But have a seat and let me see that leg. I think I know a good salve for it. I can send you home with a jar if it works."

Anders

[pinprick]

Nathaniel called ahead to let Anders know he was docking--Maker bless the sending crystals--and now he climbs off the jolly boat to the dock itself. As he picks his way through the crowd of departing passengers, he looks for Anders. Being gone from him for so long has been maddening. Heartbreaking. Once he sees his face, all of that will go away.

[justice_is_blond]

Sometimes everything is exhausting. A lot of times, really. He wishes he could keep out of matters, that he didn't care as much as he did about far too many things, but he can't stop. Doing it alone is the hardest part, though. There's nothing to keep him from his darker thoughts and fears and moods.

And then Nate calls, and everything seems better.

He'd wrapped up his current project quickly and made his way to the docks with haste... though not too much haste. There are enough people around here who know who he is that if he was to run, it might start a panic. His progress feels far too slow but then he's there and so is Nate, looking around, and Anders' world shrinks down to pushing through people and throwing his arms around his husband. This is where he feels belonging and like things might actually be okay in the end.

[pinprick]

If he doesn't crack one of Anders' ribs, it's not for lack of trying. It's like he's trying to absorb the man into his body, as if the distance they've spent can be erased by present closeness. But he does release him enough to kiss him passionately, uncaring of who sees them. They're not the only lovers kissing in reunion on this dock.

After, he takes Anders' hand and sets off in the direction of the ferry to the Gallows. "Let's go. I need a bath, you, and dinner in that order."

Loghain

[pinprick]

Nathaniel has spent the last month at Griffon Wing Keep, sorting out some matters of morale and discipline. Now he turns up at the office. Alistair is out at the moment, with only Loghain in the room. Nathaniel places a copy of his report on Alistair's desk, then passes another to Loghain.

"Disciplinary matters at Griffon Wing Keep have been smoothed out, for the moment," he summarizes. "How have things been here?"

Alistair

[pinprick]

They're still not really friends. Or they might be, in a technical sense. They don't joke around together. They don't get a pint at a pub together at the end of a day. But Nathaniel and Alistair happen to have been in each others' vicinity during some tough times, and have been civil to each other during them. Is that friendship? Unlucky happenstance? Being a decent person?

If it's friendship, Nathaniel hasn't been a very good friend since Maric died (for real). There was the blue fever, there was a lengthy trip to the Western Approach, and now Nathaniel is back and feeling very awkward because he feels like he should say something about Maric and doesn't know what. Is it too late for that now?

They've been working in the office today. Loghain is out at the moment, so it's only the two of them. And Nathaniel makes a giant step.

"Do you want to get a pint after this?" he asks out of nowhere.

[byblow]

Out of nowhere indeed.

At his desk, Alistair startles. He hadn't been drifting off, exactly, so much as he'd entered that mode of focus that's nearly trancelike, scanning page after page of a crumbling book with regular rhythm and no reason to pause until it all became automatic. Hopefully it hasn't meant he's missed something important.

But he'll have to figure that out later. Right now he's busy looking at Nathaniel like he's told a joke that Alistair thinks must be funny, somehow, but hasn't gotten yet.

"A pint of... what," he says, cautiously. Maybe there's a punchline.

[pinprick]

...







He sighs very quietly, through his nose so as not to let Alistair hear. He doesn't want him to have the wrong impression about this. He's not going to snark at him when he's trying to be friendly, dammit. Friendly Nathaniel Howe.

"Beer, cider, whatever you like. I'll buy it. And food, if you're hungry."

darktown

[exsecutus]

Nikos hears the footsteps first: hard, heavy, quick with a kind of focused panic. He hasn't run that way in years. Mostly because he doesn't run much, not anymore.

He sits back on his heels and tunes his ear to listen more keenly. Watches the man go by the end of the alley, with an urgency that he also recognizes. His mouth tightens, his expression still fairly unreadable to anyone that doesn't know him well. If anyone were around to observe which, they aren't.

Careful, he pushes back the grate back into place and shoves himself to his feet with a quiet huff of effort. He's disguised, and he's sharp enough to keep that disguise on as he shuffles down the alley, with the air of a man who doesn't trust the cobblestones not to heave up in front of him and knock him on his arse. In Darktown, even late afternoon light can take on an appropriately dimmer cast. Makes it easier to work. Anyone passing by would read him for a drunk in an alley.

Which he is, really. A convenient disguise.

Out of the alley, he looks the way the runner had come from, not the way he was going. The clinic is recognizable enough. Colin is perhaps more recognizable. Nikos looks back down the alley, walking out his escape route. Sighs, to himself, and takes a backwards step back into shadows.

A moment later he emerges, divested of his pack and walking stick. He still doesn't look like himself from far away: dark cloak, tattered and patched, stained particularly at the front with a crust that might well be old vomit. Worn boots, but he walks at an impatient clip, which might give him away.

"Shit place to open a second shop." Not in a false voice. He is very much Nikos. There's a smudge of soot over his left eyebrow that isn't part of the disguise. He looks characteristically annoyed. "I suppose that was your backer, running away from the deal."

He jerks his chin back the way he's just come from, the direction the pickpocket was fleeing.

[keenly]

Really? Really? Is Nikos going to materialize every time something embarrassing happens to Colin? Nikos gets a minor double-take intended to make sure it's really him, because it's downright surreal at first to see a random drunk sprout Nikos' face. Then Colin sighs through his nose. And, belatedly, smiles at the joke. It's a forced smile, but a smile nonetheless. He'd rather force a smile than get angry at himself for getting robbed. And, truth to tell, he's sort of glad Nikos is nearby in case anyone gets ideas about Colin being an easy target.

"You could have tripped him," he suggests, though he also could have tripped the thief from afar. "What are you doing in Darktown?"

[exsecutus]

"Checking on business." Which could be continuing his joke about the new shop, or some unrelated joke, or the truth. He doesn't qualify it. "I spend a great deal of time in Darktown. Cheap wine."

Also maybe partly true. The part about the cheapness of the wine is absolutely true. Half varnish, a quarter goat piss, weakly fermented grapes. Bad batch could turn a man blind. Nikos will still drink it.

"And I'm not a child so no, I couldn't have tripped him." Wouldn't. Same difference. Nikos gives Colin a skeptical once-over. "Will you be saying what he was running from, or do I have to ask outright."