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Entry tags:
( OPEN )
WHO: Caspar & Misc (YOU???)
WHAT: Just chillin
WHEN: Solace whenever
WHERE: Gallows, Kirkwall, wherever
NOTES: This is a catch-all post for personalized starters and tag-ins. I'll probably add some open starters later this month, but hmu on plurk or DM me if you want to plan something specific!
WHAT: Just chillin
WHEN: Solace whenever
WHERE: Gallows, Kirkwall, wherever
NOTES: This is a catch-all post for personalized starters and tag-ins. I'll probably add some open starters later this month, but hmu on plurk or DM me if you want to plan something specific!
for kitty (cont).
[ It helps that picking people out of a crowd is part of his job. It still takes a second look, and it's more the impression that she's waiting than any big tell that gives her away. People don't spend a lot of time idling around the docks unless they have a reason to, or they've got nowhere else to go; she looks wary, not desperate.
Caspar's careful to make eye contact before approaching, and when he does he ducks his head slightly, polite, offering a hand along with a smile. ]
You must be Kitty.
[ A question, but he sounds confident. It isn't that he knows, but he's sure enough. He isn't the type to care much if he got it wrong, anyway. ]
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[ Kitty takes a moment to size him up. He's got looks that match that charm of his, no doubt about it - pretty eyes, broad shoulders, a strong nose. Really good beard. Handsome, definitely. Handsome can be good, sometimes - really attractive people can sometimes float through life, getting what they want, never having to scrap for it in any real way. Sometimes you can take advantage of someone pretty in a way that you can't for someone a bit uglier. But then again, there are also beautiful people who are aware of how lovely they are, and who exploit their looks and charm, using them to entrap and ensnare...
Oh. She realizes, belatedly, that he's offering his hand to her. She's not well accustomed to shaking hands, and so she takes it with an awkward little wrinkle of her nose. ]
You're Caspar. Thanks for getting me tea. I still haven't got much money.
[ Just letting him know that there's no point to leading her into a blind alley and robbing her, if that's his intent. ]
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My pleasure. [ He's 1000% paying with Nikos' money. He tips his head towards one of the small boats that's been left docked nearby, stepping past her to start at the rope keeping it steady. It isn't one of the Inquisition's, though there's no real way of knowing. Nothing against the ferries; boats just happen to be great spots for private conversation, which is sort of useful in certain trades. ] Would you like a hand?
[ The rope hits the bottom of the small dinghy with a heavy thud. He steps one foot in to keep it even, keeping balance with one hand on the dock's post. ] And don't worry— the rowing's also on me.
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It's all right.
[ She steps lightly and agilely, with a cat burglar's grace, into the boat, scarcely jarring it in the water at all. She sits primly down on the seat, ankles tucked under her, casting a rather skeptical glance at the water. Then she says - ]
You are quite well-turned out, actually. I'd take fashion tips from you, if it came to it.
don't get into boats with strangers woW KITTY (but also do so we can thread ig)
Ah— thank you. But see, if you dress like me, people will take you for Antivan. Until they hear your accent, of course.
[ If she had any experience with the accents here, she'd be able to peg his as mismatched, too; somewhere between Nevarran and Antivan, or Greek with a slightly softer, "romantic" lilt. ]
Antivans are very fond of their leather.
[ Same, though. ]
DON'T INVITE STRANGE GIRLS WITH KNIVES INTO THE BOAT WITH YOU, CASPAR
Would that be a bad thing? Being taken for an Antivan?
[ There's a lot she doesn't know about the world. She does know already a few basic facts - Tevinter, rotten; Orlais, pompous - but Antiva is still unknown. ]
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Not necessarily. Antiva is... [ Problematic, in the 'run by corrupt merchants' way. There's a short pause as he considers his words. ] Wealthy, secure. Often feared, if not respected. But their expectations for women are somewhat...
[ What was her word? ]
Frilly.
[ So maybe they wouldn't take her for Antivan if she was covered in leather, actually. An Antivan assassin, maybe. ]
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Well, then if I dressed like you, they wouldn't mistake me for that, would they. Since you're only sort of frilly.
[ Definitely too much of a dandy, but not offensively so. ]
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He grins, clearly not offended. ]
True. They'd simply take you for someone who does not understand how to wear Antivan dress correctly, which would be correct.
[ They're well on their way across the water, now, passing a half-empty ferry as it drifts the opposite way. Caspar spares its passengers a glance, giving them a casual once-over as he continues. ]
It's also true that you could wear whatever you'd like, so long as you find it at a local shop. Kirkwall's standards for "appropriate" are low, these days. [ Too many refugees, people from all over. You wear what you can find and what you can afford. ] A bit of advice on how to wear what you settle on may be useful.
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No offense, but I'm pretty sure I know how to wear clothes.
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Of course. What I mean is that function and fashion are two very different things — and fashion is rarely dictated by common sense, unfortunately. How to loop your spare belt, how to wear your collar, whether it's appropriate to wear your gloves indoors. If you intend to blend in, it would help to have a sense of these things.
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So she pushes her hair from her face. ]
And who could I blend in with? Who could I seem to be? Ferelden, right?
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[ It's fair, wanting to blend in to avoid conflict or tiresome questions. Her insistence seems a bit more focused than that, though. There's a difference between laying low and considering a fake identity entirely. ]
What were you before you came here?
[ Just a helpful question to workshop a cover and absolutely not prying. ]
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English, not that that means anything to you. A commoner. Given what I've seen of this place, I expect that term's a more familiar one.
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Familiar, yes. Not particularly illuminating. Does "English" mean cities, farms? I assume you worked?
[ There's nothing pointed about the comment. If she was a commoner, then she wasn't sitting idle. ]
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[ A hesitation. ]
D'you know what a factory is? Where people manufacture things?
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[ He doesn't mind the question. He'll likely ask her obvious questions in the future, if he hasn't already. ]
Though I have not seen many, myself. I have certainly never worked in one.
[ They're nearing the other side of the water already, just a few more strokes before he'll have to pause and dock. In the meantime— ] What sort of shop?
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An art shop. Not the sort that sold paintings, but the sort that sold supplies. Brushes and the like. So if you're ever in need of anyone to keep ledgers or sort paintbrushes by bristle type, I'm your girl.
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But do you know how to use them? That seems like a far better use of one's time than sorting them.
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I don't know about that. Sorting them earned me a wage. No one would pay for the sorts of things I paint. What about you?
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[ A short pause as he brings the boat along the dock, then reaches for the post and tie as he continues. ]
I knew how to use them once, yes. Now I'm afraid I only use them to write gossip.
[ He means very important spy letters. ]
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Paintbrushes? You know that pens might serve you better.
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[ Doubtful. And not to bring this back to serious topics, but also totally to bring this back to serious topics in a way that's meant to be very casual and not prying — that's why it's coming up now, like a curious afterthought, not directly. ]
When you said people like you, did you mean other commoners?
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[ She tries to remember when she'd said "people like me." ]
Oh - going into factories, you mean? Yeah. [ She tries not to let the bitterness enter her voice, to just be neutral - ] It was dangerous work. Thankless. So, yeah, we took the brunt of it.