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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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.]

I don't recall you objecting so strenuously to my orders in the past, [ she calls back. She hasn't built so much of a lead yet that he won't be able to see the brief flare of her grin, teeth white in the sunshine.

The road they're on is mostly flat, but up ahead are the Vinmark mountains--not their tallest peaks, Sundermount jutting up above the rest off to their right--but a steep rise all the same, or so it looks from here. Yseult rides on for a little ways before turning back, urging her horse around and speeding back to Darras at a canter, stopping short to circle around him obnoxiously. She only half means to be, the disgusting heat of the day and an urge to race on until there's wind in her hair making her impatient, putting an uncharacteristic itch in her bones. She tries to shake it off, settles in beside him again. ]

I can actually feel my skin burning.

Edited 2018-08-09 02:30 (UTC)

[Briefly derailed by her grin and the memory of not objecting to Yseult's orders--a few memorable memories, with that same grin aimed at him--Darras ducks his head, aims his own grin down at his horse's neck. He's slipped again, back into it, and he can't even be upset about it, or at least, not in this present moment he can't.]

Different orders. Different circumstances.

[Both true. He doesn't let himself get mired down, but keeps his same steady pace, warily watching Horse for signs of rebellion. It's bound to come.

When Yseult circles back, he's picked up the pace a little, but caution is still keeping him on the slow side. Darras has at least managed to relax, physically, on the surface--reins held loose, shoulders slumped easy. Complacent, like, a man out for a stroll. On horseback.]

Spread mud on yourself. [He says it very evenly and seriously, enough that it might be actual advice.] Protects you fair lot from crisping up.

[ Yseult just casts a look at him, flat, unimpressed. She holds it for a long moment, then rolls her eyes away, a hint of a smile even now around the corners of her mouth.

She suffers in silence for a while, eventually turning up the collar of her shirt and rolling down sleeves, thin white linen some slight barrier against the sun, at least. She lets him set the pace, too, but slowly increases the pace of their walk, as subtly as she can. And it is subtle, at first, but after a while, she suddenly speaks up. ]

Right, come on. Give him a gentle kick and a little rein, a trot isn't going to kill you. Stay loose or you'll get bounced around.

[ It's either this or she kicks his horse for him. Or he rides with her and his horse can run along side. Or they die of heatstroke before they make it halfway there. ]

[Darras snorts, quietly.]

And suddenly you're an expert on what's going to be killing me, now? Picked up some bit of magic, when you joined the Inquisition?

[He casts her a sidelong look as she pulls ahead of him a bit more. He's undone his shirt, mostly, his coat long ago stripped off and laid clumsily behind him in a bundle. His shirtsleeves are pushed up, baring tattoos that will be familiar to her--the anchor on his hand, the ship, the stabbed swallow--and stray marks of ill-healed scars, faint and pale. He hasn't changed much; it hasn't been that long, since they last stood in that little room in Llomerryn together.]

I don't fancy getting bounced around at all. I've only got so many teeth, y'know. Even the healers of the Inquisition won't be reaffixing those in my head, if they're knocked out from falling off a bloody horse. And all 'cos you're in some sort of hurry.

You're not going to fall off, you have excellent balance. At our current pace, we'll get to the meeting point sometime around sunset, which will be not only many hours late but also several hours after I've expired of heat stroke.

[ Yseult's patience may be legendary but it is really, really hot. And he is being a baby. Her face says it a bit, if only in the way that she is a little too clearly trying very hard not to say it. ]

The faster we go the less total time you'll have to spend on a horse. If you can't manage it you can come ride behind me instead and we'll send a message for someone to come pick up yours.

The faster we go, the less total time I'll be spending on the horse, 'cos I'll be on my arse in the dirt.

[First things first, and then, second--]

I'm not riding behind you. You're as liable to knock me off as your horse is. I've been watching you this whole way, and you're bloody reckless. I can see it in you. If you're that overheated, we'll stop at a stream or something and you can have a swim and drink all the fresh water you like. I won't say no to that.

[It's a small deference, the way he touches his heels to Horse. A small touch, too. Horse snorts, gives his mane a shake, and picks up the pace--a small bit, of course.]

What's the fun of being out from under the Inquisition's eye if we're going to be rushing back straightaway.

Reckless-- [ Yseult's surprise is half a laugh, head rolling back with her eyes toward the sky. ] Because I don't ride at the speed of an aged grandmother on an even older pony?

[ She can bear the sun if she has to. She has after all spent the rest of the summer at sea, and the seasons before it, too, building up a sturdy enough tan to survive this ride, even if she'd prefer not to. But she's not going to push Darras harder just yet. He's sped up a little and it is his first hour on a horse, so perhaps he deserves to be cut a bit of slack for a bit longer.

Yseult exhales a deep breath with her eyes closed, and shakes her head. ] If you insist.

[ Her horse has saddle bags, not bulging in the least but apparently not empty, as she bends to unbuckle the flap and dig out a book. Reins in one hand, half an eye on the road, and otherwise she's going to get some reading in. ]

Because you don't ride at the speed of an aged grandmother on an even older pony.

[--Darras repeats, very matter-of-fact and steady. His eyes are fixed on the road ahead of them now. He's not looking around at Yseult in the least, not rising with great injury to a remark that was clearly intended to wound him, and certainly not acknowledging her attempt. Not looking around when she twists about in her saddle, either, though he catches a hint of the movement out of his perhiphery.

By the time he lets his curiosity get the better of him, she's well settled in that book. Darras snorts, again.]

Oh, come off it. Now you're just showing off.

If I wanted to show off I'd do a handstand, [ Yseult replies tartly, without so much as looking up from the page. She could, too, at this pace. She's no trick rider, and it's been a long time since she was on a horse at all, but this slow wouldn't take any great skill, just balance. ]

I might as well, she knows how to follow a road. And at this speed I could hardly run into something if I tried. Besides, I want to find out what happens next. [ She probably means in the book. ]

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