[open] spinning in the daffodils

[lightningbugs]

WHO: Evrion and yooooou
WHAT: enjoying the Kirkwall summer in the company of approximately ten thousand tiny glowing floaty friends who unnerve the general public
WHEN: Timing (backdated, covering a span, etc.)
WHERE: Solace
NOTES:

I. The Gallows

It took Evrion a long time to feel comfortable leaving the former Kirkwall tower, going on only short excursions into the rest of the city and always returning nervous, but one might say the heat has driven him out. When not in the library or the dining room, he wanders the small island in circuits, passing the same shops with their same people every day, drilling himself on their names, occupations, wares. It feels better, to know the people around, even if he never talks to them.
This is what he's doing now, looking pleasant enough, at least one spirit wisp cupped in his hand and near invisible in the daylight, there for comfort in the face of all the strangers.

II. The Chantry Garden

This seems as good a place as any for one to go who's still uncomfortable being out of the Tower, but who also had the kind of pastoral farming childhood that gives a person a love for the outdoors. He comes here increasingly often when the weather is fine, usually settling somewhere near the carved Andraste, sitting barefooted in the grass and talking quietly to someone unseen. At least, they're mostly unseen; he knows how to banish them if anyone gets too close or looks too long.

III. Wildcard

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Comments

i, gallows

[justnice]

More than a month since he'd first seen it in the stands: An apparition fit to make him choke (if that mad Rifter woman hadn't already been managing it). Some time between the beginning of the headlock and his vision going swimmy, he'd lost track again.

Chalked it up to the excitement, the heat. The not breathing. Only a face and then gone again, cleanly enough to suppose he'd imagined it. Talk about the Gallows has put paid to that notion; Finch isn't imagining anything, though Evrion himself seems another story.

I'm looking for — The mage boy, they always finish, the one who talks to nothing, and is that what he's doing now? Something held up in his hand like a pet, like it wasn't only empty air?

"Evry," Finch doesn’t mean for it to sound so... diminutive, maybe, only that an eight year old's name sits uneasy at eighteen. "Who are you talking to?"

Doesn't mean for that, either; not blurted out aloud, but the hairs on his neck are stood all on end and this is nothing like Fern. Nothing like her, and too much the same: Neither so different, neither so harmless.

Not when there's a dead boy here whispering.

[lightningbugs]

Evry gives a start, turning quickly to see who addressed him, though his nervous look becomes a wide-eyed smile when it turns out to be a face he knows. Or at least... knew, a decade ago, before it became a man's, but the soul is the same.

"No one," he says quickly, a lie all too often uttered outside the confines of the tower. He's strange, not stupid, and he knows what happens to mages who make people too uncomfortable. "You." His smile broadens playfully.
"How have you been?"