faderift | when you've gone about things all wrong,

WHO: Myr + YOU! (With starters for Herian, Vandelin, and Newt.)
WHAT: Bees, glyphs, knight-enchanting, just plain Chant(ing), and other things relevant to Myr's interests
WHEN: Early to mid-Solace
WHERE: All around the Gallows & Kirkwall
NOTES: Will be added as needed!

i. when the day begins to break // the Gallows courtyard

With the height of Kirkwall's summer cresting hot and muggy, Myr's made even more effort to confine his conditioning to the early morning hours. He's up and out before dawn to run laps of the prayer garden (much smaller than the courtyard, but fewer people there and the obstacles don't change day to day); after that, staff-sparring or grappling with whoever might be about, or barring a live opponent, a session with one of the dummies.

Then, magic: Today, he bends all his focus to a knight-enchanter's disruption field, throwing a rippling bubble of slowed time over a secluded corner of the courtyard. A footstep overheard, a voice--at the sound of someone approaching he'll toss a sunny smile their way, and a request: "If you've got a moment, d'you mind stepping inside there? Promise it's harmless; you'll just slow down a bit."

ii. in the things & the way they could have been // the library

Thursday evening, Chant discussion group. In light of recent concerns over the rifters, Myr'd opened the floor to talk of spirits--something he'd never have done on his own, uncomfortable as he is on the subject, if it hadn't felt like an inspired necessity. Tonight's discussion lingered long over Senior Enchanter Baden's treatise, with particular attention to how mankind's darkest desires intertwined with with the spirits' needs to lead them both into destruction. Not an easy topic to cover, not by a long shot, but--there was no true acrimony behind any of the arguing and no one had stomped off in a huff this time, so it went well enough.

Thus it's with a quiet sense of relief that he lingers as the rest of the group files out; he's usually the last to go, since it's his pledge to the archivists that gets them the study room every week and they expect the door locked when it's not in use. But today especially he needs a little bit of extra time to process what's been said and tuck it away--

Though he'll not be averse to anyone who wants to talk a little more privately on anything that came up in discussion.

iii. don't forget son when he's out on his own // Kirkwall alienage

Like many city elves born to the alienages, Myr's no precise idea when his nameday falls in the year. "Mid-Solace" is the closest he remembered from the little celebrations his father and Ben threw for him; he'd chosen the fifteenth himself much later out of a love of symmetry. (That it happened to coincide with the nameday of the comely Imayn--whose eye he'd been striving to catch at the time--was a nice bonus.) It had since stuck there, celebrated informally in Hasmal's Circle right up to the year of the rebellion.

After that--

After that he hadn't felt much like celebrating another year's survival, nor had anyone else. It still feels a little wrong to do so, even though the Inquisition's been a boon in other ways--but it is his thirtieth and that requires something to mark it.

He brings honeycomb and wildflowers to offer at the vhenadahl, that little bit of paganry even his father embraced. (The Maker, Iolan had said, had made the People as they were and given them to the lives they now led; He would not begrudge them their traditions, so long as it drew their hearts back to Him in the end.) He kneels at the foot of the great tree to make his gift of them; remains there, after, in quiet prayer to the Maker and His Bride, asking guidance for the coming year.

And then, as quietly: "I hope you can hear me, Dad. I know the Chantry says otherwise--but you'd always believed the Maker kinder than that, and I want to, too."

iv. wildcard

(Surprise me! Or hit me up on Plurk or Discord if you'd like a specific starter.)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Maker's breath, is it ever," he says without thinking, fervent and with his heart entirely on his sleeve. He'd said as much to Simon--that if things weren't what they are, if they were both mages or both templars or the Circles hadn't ever been or there wasn't a war, he'd be shouting his lover's praises from the rooftops. Still thinks about it, sometimes, too often--

But they can't, and he heaves his own sigh and bridles his futile longing. "Things are changing, but not so much anyone's forgotten where the battle lines are drawn, once Corypheus is out of the way." He fidgets a moment with his staff, walking fingers up it as he tries to put the words in order. "Or why the rules that should've kept us apart," did, for months, "were made. --A templar holds a mage's life in his hands. To keep us safe as much as to keep Thedas safe from us--within the Circles there's no way we could have come to each other as equals."

Breath in, breath out. He grounds his staff to stop his fidgeting. "And outside them-- There's still those who'd see it that way. Coercion," softly, sadly, "and worse weren't unknown. I'd not have anyone think that of him. I won't."

It isn't fair. Why do Saoirse and he get to be public about their relationship - though it's drawn a few stares from time to time, true - but Myr and his have to keep it hidden? Yes, he gets what Myr is saying. He understands the reasoning. But it just isn't right. History deems it must be so, but Prompto would like nothing more than to see that smashed and for things to change.

"I get it. And it's your relationship. Sometimes it's easier and safer to keep things quiet." And ultimately, he respects their decision and what they're doing.

Yet...

It's his turn to fidget a little. Prompto's not usually the type to rock the boat. To disagree or debate. Often he thinks it's not his place to. Other times he just doesn't know enough to do so. Both are in play here. So he finds himself unsure as to whether or not to leave his words as is, or to speak what else is on his mind. He likes Myr, and he doesn't want to tank their friendship because of his opinions. Especially concerning something so personal.

"You think we shouldn't, though." Far from being offended at the idea, Myr's got a strange sad smile on his face. "Because things are changing--or because we ought to help them along?"

It's an idea he's circled around himself enough to try a guess at it. To put it into words, so even if it's not what Prompto meant, Myr can examine it for himself and decide what he thinks of the idea. (And what he's thought of the idea; his gut reaction is to shy away from turning something so private, so sweet into a political thing. But given the circumstances that got him and Simon together--

Maybe that's fear keeping him from some larger purpose the Maker intended.)

A moment's woolgathering on that--and another moment's consideration on why Prompto stopped where he did, before Myr adds, "I'd not be bothered if you did. It's--a relief to hear someone else's thoughts on it."

Sometimes Prompto forgets just how much of an open book he is. Even though Myr can't see his facial expressions or see the way he fidgets, he can still tell what he was thinking. Good thing he's more of a scout than a spy...

"A little bit of both. Things are changing, but they still need to be... pushed along, you know? For people to step forward and advocate the changes they want to see. Sometimes it even helps other people to come forward." He rubs the back of his head. "But like, it's easy for me to say that. It's not my relationship on the line. So I get it if you don't want to."

when you've gone about things all wrong,

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