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[open] 'cause for every lie i tell them, they tell me three
WHO: Max & YOU
WHAT: Arriving in Kirkwall, recycling a bunch of prompts & transferring over TDM threads, but feel free to toss on a different starter if you like
WHEN: Solace, ambiguously sometime before the Inquisition leaves for Minrathous
WHERE: The Gallows, Kirkwall
NOTES: I'm gonna do a network post here shortly, so this is mostly just a place to gather anybody who wants an in-person thread instead!
WHAT: Arriving in Kirkwall, recycling a bunch of prompts & transferring over TDM threads, but feel free to toss on a different starter if you like
WHEN: Solace, ambiguously sometime before the Inquisition leaves for Minrathous
WHERE: The Gallows, Kirkwall
NOTES: I'm gonna do a network post here shortly, so this is mostly just a place to gather anybody who wants an in-person thread instead!
I. gallows, docks;
[ It is, from the very beginning, a gamble. To sail a ship full of murderers and thieves into a civilized port is never a certain thing, Max imagines, but today the men she sails with are not only this thing that strikes fear into men’s hearts, but also in the unique position of needing to appear less frightening than those reputations suggest. If this is to work, the Inquisition must see them as formidable allies, yes, but there must also be room in their minds to see them as something more. Reasonable. Reliable. Level-headed. Nonthreatening.II. training grounds;
Which is why Max is here at all. Though perhaps not alone.
The ferry knocks to a halt against the Gallows’ docks. Wood lurches beneath her feet, but Max catches herself, a firm hand against a post, and pulls up onto level ground again. She can do this. They have no choice but to do this.
Her smile goes on bright and kind, first in thanks to the ferryman, but next, to whatever friendly (or unfriendly) face should happen nearest while not looking sufficiently busy. ]
Excuse me, [ the petite Orlesian woman beckons, ] Are you with the Inquisition here?
[ The men and women Max arrived here with are not her friends; she saw to that herself thoroughly enough, and while she trusts at least that in this moment they share mutual self-interest, she hasn’t survived this long by putting all her faith in something so mercurial as that. They are one avenue of support under specific circumstances; Max prefers to have every avenue available to her, for any circumstance. She will need more than pirates for that.III. kirkwall, docks;
In the bright of mid-day, then, there is a new face to be found on the edge of the training grounds. She is not dressed for fighting, in a well-fitted dress too vibrant to have ever had much mud washed from it, though seawater has done its work on the hem. In one hand, she carries a skin of water, and in the other a plate of pickled vegetables, still cool from the storeroom. Both, she offers forth to the next fighter off the field, be they rogue, warrior, mage, or otherwise — as long as they’re impressive, or decidedly not in a way she thinks she can use. ]
To keep you on your feet, [ she explains, with a little smile. ] You are fighting well, but the sun is unforgiving, is it not?
[ Kirkwall is not Nascere. To begin with, there’s more than one tavern. There is more than one district, too, and while their island had not been immune to the divisions of social class, fortunes change more easily on shifting sands than they will on these unforgiving cliffs. Finding her place here will be a challenge quite unlike the ones she’s faced before.IV. gallows, towers;
Best to get started. The early evening finds her on the other end of the ferry’s route, standing on the old stone of Kirkwall’s docks, her eyes on Hightown’s gates, considering the climb. And all the people and places below. ]
Do you know it well? [ she asks whoever has come on this ferry ride with her, ] This city we find ourselves in.
a;V. wildcard;
[ There is not much settling in to do in the Gallows, but some. They had escaped with more lives than belongings, and not enough of the former. She chooses a single occupancy room, a bed and a table far simpler than the ones even Mr. Noonan had allowed her, and sets to equipping the space with the available linens and supplies — basic accoutrements that, once again, come only in exchange for a promise of work she will not choose, toward a goal that seems now very distant. But it is the only way she can see of ever walking into her tavern again, of ever taking a seat in the chair she has already sacrificed so much to keep.
(If there is a fucking darkspawn magister sitting in her fucking chair on her fucking island right now—)
The screech of wooden legs dragged across the stone floors of the hall is not pleasant. To say the least. But the only chair she could find is a heavy, gnarled hardwood, taller than she is and carved with vines long since worn away, and it is going in this room. ]
b;
[ Later in the evening finds her higher up, perched beside the narrow slit of a window that looks out over the Gallows to the west. A flagon of wine has found its way to a nearby table, along with a pair of cups, one of which Max holds aloft in three fingers like it might have been a prop in some proclamation she’d considered making when she started but has since thought better of. Instead, she watches the glittering of sun sinking over the sea and sips.
If it’s a pirate who breaks her solitude, they might be greeted with a question. ]
Did you ever imagine, [ she asks the last of the light, ] That after all that has happened, this would be the result?
[ Feel free to spin off one of the above prompts or toss me something else! ]
ii, sort of
So Max catches her eye. (She's so pretty. Her poise and everything about her is just so...amazing.) Kitty watches, and notices - the woman might be helping, but she isn't helping everyone. The water and the food is going to those who are outstanding at what they're doing, the strongest warriors and the fiercest mages. That strikes Kitty as being dreadfully unfair, and also silly: after all, the people who are struggling are the ones who need support, not the ones who are already marvelous. But it's not about supporting, is it? It's about ingratiating, about flattering the ones who are the best...
But - no. The next person that the woman helps, Kitty notices, is one of the weakest ones, someone who'd been struggling the entire time. So it looks like Kitty must have misjudged her: she is out there helping the people who really need it. So, a little embarrassed by how judgmental she'd been, Kitty hops down from where she'd been sitting and falls into step beside Max. ]
D'you want some help?
no subject
Take the water, if it please you, [ she offers, glad for the help. With a proper once-over, she takes stock of the girl — young, but far taller than her, and strong. Observant. ] You are not a fighter?
no subject
[ It only seems right to do, honestly. The lady is small - smaller than she looked from a distance, honestly. And she's done up in such finery that it seems unlikely that she's used to lifting and hauling - but looks are very rarely to be trusted, Kitty reminds herself.
She answers the lady's question as she hefts the water. ]
Don't look like it, do I? [ Or, well...It's a non-answer that she's offering. Too wary to lie outright, too wary to tell the truth. ] They're amazing, though, aren't they? It's a bit - [ She searches for a word and lands on one that surprises her a little bit: ] Sad.
no subject
Why sad?
[ Why for her, specifically. Max can think of a reason or two of her own, but she isn't the type to share first. ]
no subject
Because...you don't get that good at fighting having lived a happy and peaceful life. It seems like there isn't a single person in this entire world who doesn't at least know how to use a blade. Because violence is everywhere, it seems.