faderift | The many winged escape; it's the bough we break to blow away. [Closed to Galatea]

WHO: Galatea Lourdes & Newt Scamander
WHAT: A Thedas native and her rifter charge catch up.
WHEN: Sometime around mid-Justinian, prior to the rifter phylactery talks.
WHERE: Close to the stables in Kirkwall.
NOTES: Nothing so far. Will update if that changes.

Newt is trying very much not to think about the impending rifter phylactery discussions. He's trying to focus on his work; trying to take care of both Merlin and Malcha on top of deliberately ignoring the undeniable growth of feelings he finds he has for Tina. (Merlin, why did he ever think sharing a room with her would be a good idea?)

When he isn't in the library, or engaged in various tasks for his Inquisition work, Newt tends to keep to the outdoors as much as possible. It's much easier now, what with the warmth of the weather, and he finds it does him good to be as close to nature as he can afford to be, for the moment.

This early evening finds him walking near the stables, enjoying the various creatures that he observes from his near distance. He chuckles at the people stumbling and fumbling over them, and he makes a note to himself that he ought to look into seeing more about those Dracolisks. He really wants one of his own.

He wanders until he nearly runs into a familar face.

"My apologies, I didn't see you there. Galatea?"

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"Newt," she says, pleased, smiling up at him - she had been here mostly to investigate the animals, but he's been in the back of her mind, too, with all that's going on. That human rifter who is bold, and could do with minding; she trusts that Bronach and Iorveth will find their way through whatever happens next (hopes it will be for better and not worse, but cannot ignore the possibilities before them), but a pin had gone in his name, better see he's well.

She isn't a natural to the outdoors, or experienced with mounts - it's dual purpose. She'll only get more comfortable by doing more, and it doesn't seem as if 'try to only have duties in cities' is going to be an option.

Which is a shame. Because that would be great. It's frustrating, sometimes, how far out of her own experience she has to go - exciting, too! New and interesting. Only: she would like to be good at things, also, to do things she knows.

"Yes, me." He was probably confirming he remembered her name, but: he did, so. "Are you busy?"

"No particularly at this moment, no," Newt says with a smile. "I'd enjoy the company, if you aren't busy yourself?"

He still remembers their first meeting quite well. And now that he thinks of it, he's struck by the similarities of it to his first meeting with Tina. Both capable and lovely young women who essentially had to pull him back by the scruff of his neck. Such thoughts turn his greeting smile even fonder.

"I like coming out here," he says, nodding towards the stables. "I like watching the animals. There are some interesting choices for mounts, I must say." His gaze is definitely still lingering on the Dracolisks.

“Not busy,” she agrees, although there's never a shortage of anything to hand in the event she wishes to quickly become busy; theirs seems a never-ending uphill climb of task upon task, and it's frustrating, sometimes, to not be sure where it's all going. What it means, what it accomplishes.

Everything was much simpler, in the chantry.

(It is weak, maybe, to wish for that. Simple is not the same as right.)

“You are not enough impressed by the horses,” she predicts, following his eyeline. “Maybe something'll come through the rift, no? A stranger like you. But four-legged. Or not four-legged. The chicken-horse, you know.”

She could see Newt on a chicken-horse. It feels right. After a moment, “I wonder if they'll want to give the chicken-horse a phylactery.” Galatea.

Newt grins. He aims for sheepish, but there's a definite quirk to the curve of his mouth that much better suggests cheekiness.

"I enjoy animals of all sorts," he says, though it's obvious in the way he speaks that he much prefers the less traditional sorts. "But I admit, I find myself more interested in the...interesting types." Such as dragons, and things that resemble dragons. He's gotten better about not stating that outright so often around here, though. Especially not anywhere near Hightown.

"Ah, yes," his grin brightens. "I am rather fond of the chicken horse. I hope perhaps one of my own creatures might come through one day." Though, truthfully, he has a mixed desire regarding that, so far as that his creatures might wind up hurt or dead.

At that last part, Newt can't help but snort, almost chocking on his own laughter. It shouldn't be funny; Merlin only knows how much he's been struggling with the phylactery issue over the past few weeks. And yet he laughs anyway.

"Don't give them ideas," he says, shaking his head.

Somewhat pleased with herself for prompting the laugh—although it was an honest enough question, in the sense that she thinks it might be worth knowing the answer, it'd be entirely dishonest to suggest she hadn't known precisely what she was doing in asking it—she swings on the balls of her feet, utterly unrepentant. He laughed, so it's fine.

“They seem to have plenty, yes,” she allows. “I've seen the use of those things.”

That might not actually be unrelated to the fact that Newt has never seen her unarmed. Then again, maybe she just feels naked without multiple implements of imminent death on her person at all times?

(Those things could both be true.)

Newt nods, sobering at the mention of 'plenty of' phylacteries.

"It's almost as though they don't trust us," he replies dryly, his lips quirking again briefly as he shakes his head.

He has, in fact, noticed that every time he's seen Galatea, she's been armed. But he can hardly fault anyone for that here, especially elves, given the ways they're treated on top of the other evil trying to end the world.

The many winged escape; it's the bough we break to blow away. [Closed to Galatea]

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