faderift | CLOSED | one minute you say we're a team

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CLOSED | one minute you say we're a team

WHO: Darras & Yseult
WHAT: A random courier mission
WHEN: Before news from Tevinter
WHERE: A road into the Vinmarks
NOTES: Pirate language probable. Maybe giant spiders. Who knows.

[ It's not exactly a glamorous mission, which is fine. The problem--Yseult thinks to herself but does not say when she is handed the assignment--is that it's also not a good use of her skills. Yes, the agent needs to be met in the pass midway from Wildervale, the message needs to be collected and delivered the rest of the way to Kirkwall. But surely they could send someone else, like an actual messenger, or anyone with two legs and a brain, and not a highly-trained spy? At first she'd thought perhaps there must be some other dimension to this, some suspicion about the courier, or some potential threat. But no. This is the Inquisition, and as it turns out their rumored egalitarian leanings are both very much true and also seem extend even to their internal assignment structures. It's all very different than she's used to.

So her horse is not the only one champing at the bit to get going and get this over with as she waits just outside Kirkwall's northern gate. Even this early, the road toward Wildervale is busy, merchants and farmers coming and going, wagon traffic stirring up dust to make the already-sweltering day even less pleasant. Her horse is a big grey mare who immediately ate every green thing in reach and has now taken to snorting impatiently, head tossed as much as the reins tied to a tree branch will allow her. Yseult leans against the trunk out of biting range, arms crossed, squinting at the gate. "Someone from Forces will meet you," she was told at the last second, over her protests (not in so many words) that sending two skilled agents was even worse than wasting one. But it seems there have been reports of animal attacks, and they are taking no chances.

She doesn't expect to see Darras, and even shades her eyes with a hand to be sure (as if she could mistake him). She doesn't expect him to come towards her, either. What are the chances, after all, that out of everyone in Forces, his name was pulled? And that he actually turned up to do the work? Slim, but here they are. She pushes off the trunk and lifts her hand in a little (awkward, ill-advised) wave. ]

Good morning.

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Is it.

[Darras' hand is coiled loose around the reigns of the horse he's leading, half-hoping that the beast will pull free and run off of its own accord, leaving him without a mount and without a means of accompanying anyone on this assignment.

The horse--a sorrel gelding with white markings around its legs--was given over to Darras with reassurances from the stablehand. Patience, the man had said, and an even-temper. The latter might be true. The former, not so much. The horse spent most of the way out of Kirkwall proper trying to push Darras in the back, using its nose like the broad head of a spade to hurry him on. Darras, wary of all beasts of the land except cats, gave the horse a long lead and kept as far from the thing as possible, which seemed only to encourage the gelding more.

Darras had known, from the start of receiving his orders, that Yseult would be on this end of it, waiting for him. If she'd known to expect him in kind, she doesn't show it. Perhaps putting on surprise is part of her act, one she's playing quite well.

No: that's a bitter thought. Yseult's surprise is genuine. This Darras knows on immediate sight. There's a little lift to her right eyebrow, a tell she must not know about or else she'd have trained it out of herself by now. When she first sees him, approaching, it isn't there. When he turns his path straight for her, there it is, and Darras pushes away that acknowledgement lest he start to feel any kind of nostalgia or fondness.

He squints up at the sky instead, where the sun hangs oppressive above them.]

Looks like a shit day to me. But I'm here on orders, so.

[He gives a half-shrug, tight. Orders. His favorite.]

Is that a traditional Rivaini greeting? 'Shit morning'?

[ A joke, obviously, a little dry, but trying not to match Darras for grouching. She's not exactly surprised by his mood--orders after all, not to mention absolutely everything else about the present situation--but maybe she's a little disappointed, faintly frustrated at his determination to get this off on the wrong foot. It's surely deliberate, since his lack of surprise is obvious, from the way he'd turned straight toward her as soon as he saw her and the sullen set to his face now. No unhappiness at seeing her that wasn't already settled in and marinated on the walk here.

Oh well. At least he came at all. ]

If we get going now we should at least be in the trees by midday, [ she offers as some slight consolation, because he's not wrong, that sun is oppressive and will only grow more brutal as it rises. She's not looking forward to being out in it either.

She unties her mount, side-stepping its irritated shifting, and leads it far enough from the tree to step easily up into the saddle, looking as comfortable there are she does basically everywhere else. She missed his horse's head-butting, and hasn't remembered yet that he once told her he can't ride, and is chalking his discomfort up to everything else. ]

Only on the shit mornings.

[--Matching her dry tone. Darras isn't precisely in the mood for banter--but at the same time, he can't help himself. It comes automatically.

He would be better off limiting himself, or at least trying to limit himself, in conversation. If Yseult wants to call this work, then let it be work, without any bleed. That is not likely to happen, and this opening exchange neatly encapsulates how unlikely it is. Darras, in deference, grunts his agreement with her good sense.

It's almost better when she's busy swinging herself up onto her horse, briskly moving to business. Only then he's faced with his own horse, which has wandered closer. Darras steps away, to give it all the room it seems to require, and then some.]

How far is it? To the trees we're reaching by midday.

[ Yseult squints slightly. Why. ] We should be in the trees in a couple hours. A few more up to the rendezvous point in the pass. Only about forty miles round-trip but much of this leg uphill. The way back will be faster.

[ She's beginning to look past his reluctance and notice how he shifts away from the horse, putting distance between them when he ought to be mounting up. When would he ever have had to deal with a horse? Likely never. He's said as much, she seems to recall now. That day on the Fancy, listing off for him all sorts of things she's no good at, and poking at him til he did the same. They'd left out a few key items, it seems.

She could help, of course, but has a feeling that any offer to do so might only set them back further, given the mood he's in. So she just waits, looking at him, and then lifts her chin to indicate the horse. ]

What's his name?

[A couple hours is far too far away to propose a walk. Which means he'll have to get on the bloody horse one way or another. Darras glares at the beast, as it trots a few steps nearer. It's looking at him.

Yseult's question makes him realize that she's looking at him as well, and he turns the tail-end of that glare on her before he shoves it aside.]

Don't know, we've not been formally introduced. Real lack of manners in Kirkwall. [Less stiffly, then:] How should I know his name, it's not going to make any difference. Just call him Horse and be done with it.

They should have collars like dogs [ Yseult suggests, mildly, diffusing, ] That would be helpful.

[ His glare stings, even if she's reasonably certain most of it was meant for the horse, but they've got to get through this and on the road somehow, and she's not sure how to ask or offer without pricking his pride, so she doesn't. She just dismounts quickly, loops her mount's reins back around the branch, and heads toward Darras. ]

The stablehands should've told you [ she says, because they're not here and thus the perfect people to blame, ] and showed you what to do. They must still be half-asleep. Here, I'll hold his head. [ She reaches out a hand for the gelding's bridle, and another to take the reins from Darras, trying not to give him a chance to protest. ] I'll keep him still, you go around to his left, step your left foot into the stirrup, grab the saddlehorn, and swing up and over.

And if it bolts and runs you down?

[But this is ridiculous, he's not a child; his apprehension should be easy to overcome. Left foot in stirrup, saddlehorn, swing up. Darras, despite his pride, knows better than to test fate and try to manfully mount a horse on his own. It's Yseult. Certainly he's showed off for her, before. He's been a great deal more foolish in front of her as well.

All this is to say that he waits until she's got the reins in hand, Like the deck of a ship. Easy.

Not easy, as it turns out. When Darras puts his weight on the stirrup, Horse steps one casual step forward--not so close as to tread on Yseult's foot, or even particularly crowd her, but close enough that Darras' foot slips out of the stirrup, and he nearly falls backward onto his arse. It's his balance that saves him, and he lands, wrongfooted and with a loud,] Dammit--

[ Yseult gives the horse a stern look, and steps around his head so she can see Darras. ]

Are you alright? [ she checks, brows lowered into a frown of genuine concern. He easily could've turned an ankle for all she knows. She keeps an arm wrapped around his horse's head, fingers hooked into the tack, doing her best to keep him still, but there's not a lot she can do about one step this way or that.

Forward of their current position (from the horse's perspective) is a clump of tallish grass, and Yseult clicks her tongue against her teeth and backs up, drawing Darras's horse with her until he's near enough to lower his head to eat. She stands by his shoulder, reins in one hand and the other patting absently at his neck. She isn't actually especially good with horses. ]

Try now while he's distracted.

Fine.

[Neither snarl nor snap, but it still has a little teeth to it. At least they're teeth for Horse and not for Yseult.. Darras glares at Horse, now complacently moving toward the clump of grass under Yseult's peaceful lead.]

Only I've got the only horse in the stable with comedic timing. That's what it looks like, when it's distracted?

[Too quickly returned to banter, perhaps. It's that or sulk about his pride--of which Darras does have a decent store. Sulking isn't one of his vices.

Which, to that end--he steps around to the side of the horse again, and, with a breath--goes for the stirrup again. This time he gets his foot in all right, hand on the saddlehorn--up, and he swings his leg over.

Horse sidesteps, but too late this time. Darras is seated on the beast, holding gamely to the saddlehorn. With both hands.]

Just seats me higher for bucking off.

Edited (wow! ) 2018-08-07 14:32 (UTC)

You can call him Jester. [ Yseult slips the suggestion in as Darras is succeeding in pulling himself up and over this time. She gives him a second, then approaches with the reins looped around one fist, to hand them up to him, remaining there with one arm leaned on the horse's shoulder. He's contentedly chomping for the moment, but she's ready to grab for control again if she needs to. ]

You'll be fine. Always loop the reins around your hand or the horn or both so you can't drop them. You'll want to keep some slack in them unless you're actively guiding, and only pull back if you need a quick stop, or to back up. Remember they're connected to the bit [ she gestures, a hand across her mouth ] so he won't like it when you pull and will get upset if you do it too much. You're going to steer with your knees [ she says, setting a hand on his ] as much as your hands. Gentle pressure will tell him which way you want him to go. [ She gives his knee an absent but encouraging squeeze, and starts to step back. ]

Any questions, before we get on the road?

[It's a great deal at once, and Darras tries to commit it to memory even as he's staring down at the back of Horse's head and trying to understand the regularity by which people subject themselves to this.]

Yeah. You're the one with experience in taking orders. When do we get assigned something we're actually useful at.

[He lifts the reigns off of the horse's neck, coiling them a measure tighter around his hands without pulling too tight.]

[ It's not that much, especially if you already know all of it. Sorry, Darras. Or not, Yseult's sympathy waning slightly at that crack. She snorts quietly and shrugs, turning away to head back to her own horse. ]

Most likely when they stop being suspicious of us.

[ She mounts back up and walks her horse out into the road, sticking by its edge along the verge, out of the way of faster traffic, looking back over her shoulder to make sure he's moving.

She's a little annoyed, at Darras for being a chief cause of those suspicions, at his attitude, and especially at the fact that now he's needled her about it she feels compelled to defend the practice instead of getting to vent her frustration at being wasted to the one and only person she trusts. She knows what he'll say if she does now. Then why don't you just leave? That's not something she wants to start up again right here at the start of a full day of riding together. ]

Have you told them what you're useful at?

Edited 2018-08-07 15:11 (UTC)

Wasn't sure how much to be telling them.

[She's unfairly graceful in how she swings into the saddle. Darras notes it without particularly meaning to. He's watching mostly to see how it is she's going to get her bloody horse to move, because just after he'd soured their conversation, Darras had realized that he'd not gotten that fact out of her. Squeeze with the legs to direct the beast, but how do you squeeze to indicate forward?

He does his best--both legs, kind of forward. Horse stands solidly, finishing off that clump of grass. Yseult has used that same grace to guide her horse into the road, her back as lithe and lovely as a willow-rod, even in the saddle. Darras curses in his head, then gives the squeezing another go and, at last, Horse picks up the message, or else is tired of the grass in this area, and moves forward, plodding stolidly after Yseult.

Good enough. Hopefully not observed but, probably, observed, as Yseult is generally aware of everything going on around her. Darras should therefore feel some sort of vindictive glee, that he got the drop on Yseult in this mission, that no one saw fit to inform her who would be joining her. He doesn't feel that at all.]

I didn't want to spoil any more stories you might have told of me. Sailing, mostly. Left out the bits about murder. How about you?

[ Yseult realizes her error when she looks back and finds Darras and Horse still sitting precisely where she left them. She could go fix it right away and fill him in but instead she waits, keeping her mount to a slow walk to not pull too far ahead. Maybe there's a little pettiness in it, making him fend for himself when she knows he's no idea at all what he's doing. But he's perfectly capable of figuring it out, and it doesn't hurt to let him.

Once he's moving she circles back to come up alongside him and with a click of her tongue and only slightly exaggerated motions, urge her horse faster, assuming he'll imitate it and keep up. ]

I explained my general skill set, but left out the less-savory aspects. I'm not sure yet what they make of that sort of work, and I haven't been able to get a clear sense of what they're actually doing so that I can tell them where I might be most useful. [ A pause, then dryly, almost under her breath: ] Obviously.

Obviously.

[Darras echoes her, a little more dry in his rendition of the word. If he's noticed Yseult hanging back, then he's chosen not to internalize it, or think too hard about it. Instead, when she circles back, he fixes her with a smirk--as if he expected her to drop back and walk her horse alongside of his.]

Near as I can tell, I think they're not so spoiled for choice that they'd turn down an honest woman like yourself. Wasn't there a letter sent, explaining you? I'd think your masters would prefer the explaining and the revealing to come from them.

It was a very vague letter, by necessity. It vouches for my work but doesn't say what it is. They're not exactly going to put down in writing that they've had me out spying and killing for them. It's one thing to allow me to fill in some of the gaps for the Inquisition; it's another to have it in on paper that could be used against them one day. You need to move your hips with the horse.

[ It's a sudden change of topic, even now (especially now) uncomfortable discussing her employers in any detail. Instead she reaches across, not within her arm's length but near enough to gesture. ]

You're too stiff, you won't last an hour like that. Think of it like walking a deck. You don't fight against the rolling, you learn to move with it. These muscles here, [ she demonstrates on herself, presses fingers into the joint ] You have to relax those and just let your hips follow the horse.

[Yseult's instruction falls so neatly after the rest of it that Darras overlooks it as a separate thought at first. Then he realizes his mistake, and doubles back to pick out her instruction--and only then does he look over at her, a little more sharply than perhaps horse-riding instructions should merit.

She wouldn't be making a joke at him, now, would she. Double-entendre: she's the one that taught him that term. Darras knew it more simply, the kind of thing you say and leer about. Innuendo, like.]

Is that how it's done.

[She can't be joking, he decides. Or she's playing it very straight. Or she's distracting. Or she is simply giving him instructions. Or, most likely, it doesn't matter.]

I can't have it being said I didn't make it past an hour. Thank the Maker I've got you to be teaching me such things. Relax, and roll the hips, [a paraphrase, repeating her with some amusement.] Imagine.

[ She doesn't blush, but he'll know it wasn't intentional based on the little flick of her eyes toward him and the hint of movement around her mouth. Even though the instructions were given in earnest, the roll of her eyes says she wasn't entirely unaware of how it had come out, and she cocks a brow at him just a little too quickly. ]

Imagine is right, [ She replies, amusement flaring warm with the uneven curl of her smile and the teasingly skeptical angle of her brows. ] Even if I could teach you that you'd never have the patience for it.

[ She flicks a stray bit of grass from her mount's mane at him, and shakes her head. ] I'm serious, that's actually how you do it! You'll be less sore later. [ A sigh, long-suffering. ] There really is no way around the innuendo, is there?

Edited 2018-08-07 22:58 (UTC)

You taught me some.

[Fair is fair; honest is honest. And despite himself, Darras likes the way Yseult's smile curves at her mouth. He likes it so well that, in many ways, he could blame it for landing him in service to the Inquisition. Yseult is neater and sparer than anyone he knows, careful with her expressions. So the cracks, when they show, are to be savored.

That's why Darras falls right into smiling back at her, a little more of a smirk than what she's shown him.]

No, is the answer there. Sorry.

[He sounds nothing of the sort. He has, as they've exchanged this little banter, managed to relax a little, as instructed, and as it turns out, she was exactly right. It's more comfortable, albeit tenuous. If Horse so much as shies from a tumbling leaf, Darras will be back to awkward uncertainty.]

I don't trust horses. I don't see why everyone else is so keen to.

[ Yseult hums her answer, non-committal for a second before replying: ] It was mutual. [ The teaching, that is. She smiles, quick and sharp and gone in a split-second. Back to safer subjects. ]

They're useful, [ she shrugs of horses, ] Better than walking for long distance [ but then already she smiles again, pleased with a thought that catches her: ] And once you get comfortable, you can go for a gallop. That's the best part of riding by far, flying over the ground. You'd love it.

[ Somewhere in the not-so-distant back of her head is the awareness that this is dangerous, that this is how falling back together begins. The ease, the humor, his smile. It's enough to make little things like wanton murder slip your mind. But you catch more flies with honey, etc. ]

[Darras has much the same inner monologue running through his head. He keeps it there, for now. The return to this familiar pattern is easy. That means he should resist it.

It would come to little or even no surprise that he's terrible at resisting. That's why his smirk turns a little toward a grin, as he turns his attention back toward the hard-packed road ahead of them.]

I don't think I would. Because, like I've said, I don't trust a thing about them. D'you really think i'll be getting comfortable enough that I'll letting 'em run with me?

[ Yseult reconsiders for a moment before she answers and then nods. ]

Yes. Maybe not right away, but yes. You're not going to turn down something fun just because it sounds a little dangerous, are you?

[ That arched brow is all challenge, even if she has to squint a little bit against the sun when she turns toward him. The heat of it is already oppressive, and she dips her head toward the long road ahead of them. ]

Come on, we can at least walk faster than this.

[No, is the answer. He would, to a fault, never, fear and distrust and all. But especially not after being fixed with that look.

Rather than admit it, Darras inclines his head, onward.]

You first.

[In a moment, this could all be undone. Kirkwall is already behind them, every step like shedding a layer. It will all come back, and soon. A wrong word, a memory, something to curdle this. When she squints at him, like that, with the sun in her face--what does any of it matter?]

[ He doesn't need to say anything; she already knows the answer. Yseult's smiling as she turns away, head ducked. She gathers up the reins and posts up, urging her horse into a trot. It's a little tempting, the idea of speeding off and seeing what he does. If he'll manage to match her, or be waiting when she circles back...or if he'll manage to fall off and break his neck. It's a little too possible, given his combination of inexperience and gameness, so she holds back for now, picking up the pace more gradually.

Up ahead the road widens and splits, with more than half of the traffic peeling off to head up the coast instead. Small farms line the road heading up into the foothills, and there's plenty of room to weave between haywagons. Yseult looks back over her shoulder for Darras. ]

Are you coming?

[He in no way matches her for speed, and he doesn't get quite to a trot, either. Clumsy, fumbling to mimic the way Yseult urges her horse forward, Darras manages to get to a quicker walk.

The road is physically moving away from the coast, turning from the familiar toward farmland, open fields, farmhouses. There is little wind here, and the sun is baking the hard-packed earth of the road. Darras is used to open sunlight. This is worse, with the stilted air.

Well behind Yseult, he watches her guide her horse in that direction, smooth and graceful. She could ride circles around him. He could turn around, now, leave her to it.]

As I was ordered!

[--He calls back, and it's half a joke. Along the coast, the water glimmers, far enough away that the waves move silently, their white heads flashing and falling back to blue again. Darras makes himself look away from it.]

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