CLOSED | one minute you say we're a team

[hassaran]

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.

Comments

[staysail]

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.]

[hassaran]

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. ]

[staysail]

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.

[hassaran]

[ 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?

[staysail]

[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.

[hassaran]

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.

[staysail]

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--

[hassaran]

[ 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.

[staysail]

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.