(open!) 01. i wish that i was just a cloud

[wolfslayer]

WHO: Willem & you
WHAT: Them apples, that ale. Possibly some talk of phylacteries and adjacent unpleasantness.
WHEN: July 2018
WHERE: Kirkwall
NOTES: Dragons and things!

closed to aro;

[possibly, willem had thought that focusing on apples would dissuade aro from prematurely introducing his fearsome draconian companion. no, that's definitely what he thought.

but there are worse things than befriending a bit of a coward, aren't there? there's a tree in full ripeness, her boughs bent low under the weight of her bright new decor, and a basket set up expectantly beneath. willem is holding a fucking crossbow, because of course he is. his spiky armor and magical sword are a bit at odds with the indolent demeanor about him right now, but that's hardly unexpected; he's the kind of fellow who will go away on missions to play healer, miss out on a lot of political drama. then come back and range out to the brink of bandit territory to gather apples.

with a crossbow. and a hip flask of raspberry cordial wine.]

Hello, Aro. [he brightens upon seeing the half-elvish.] I tend to find shooting things that aren't trying to kill you is quite enjoyable, no matter what sort of mood you're in.

open;

[darktown isn't where you go if you're of any decent repute, but these days, it seems like the rifters aren't at risk of being tarred with a flattering brush. willem might be found there, starting ever so slightly mysterious cookfires for those who are struggling for themselves, or run a peculiar little laundry for dignity's sake. he doesn't talk about magic much, but when he does, inevitably the conversation goes to whispers.

never mind the maniacal warlock interest. underneath it all, the compulsion's always there.

but there's a lot of 'all' to hide under, really. lowtown might not be a vast improvement over darktown, but there are proper taverns, drinks and food one might purchase with the hard-earned pay from missions away. you might best him at darts or listen to an increasingly embellished tale about the size and deranged anatomy of the demons that were slain by people other than himself. he'd be a good wingman, if there were anyone who needed flying.]

Comments

[sorcerised]

[ Iessa raises her head when Willem crouches. At the very least she understands that he's talking to her, since she watches him quite intently. Then, when he finishes speaking, she dips her head to very gently nudge his hand. Aro is right beside him, and crouches as well. ]

I think that means thanks. [ He says, nodding to Iessa. ] Or possibly just that she thinks you smell nice. I'm saying thank you, though.

[ And you do smell all right, actually. Aro turns. Speaking of smells, Willem might detect the scent of ozone now. Standing, Aro points a fingertip towards the tree. ]

Nixeu!

[ Iessa's head snaps back up in time to see a bright electric spark shoot from Aro's fingertip and cut cleanly through a second apple stalk. It drops into the basket, its stalk smoking from the impact. He turns to grin at Willem. ]

What do you say we make a game of it, Will?