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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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. ]

Do you.

[Arch, it's not exactly a question. Darras goes on looking at her, as she goes on reading. She'll be able to feel the weight of his gaze on her. A warm focus, for all the sharpness he's put on for the moment.

This is more of their same mistake. Banter, easy as anything. If it's a mistake, a trap, a mire, it's one Darras will fall into, easy, in the moment.

He takes firmer hold of the reins--but subtly, out of her sight. She's focused on the book. Doesn't matter: she'll be watching him, too. Her horse can follow a road. Well, that's not something Darras would have thought of horses--domesticated, but still beasts, aren't they, and unpredictable, as he'd tried to convince Yseult--]

What happens next, is, [and he leaves it hanging as he tries to mimic what it was she'd done to urge her horse faster, when they'd first set out. Squeeze, she'd said. And there's something in the heels, he knows that much. Horse bolts forward, with a start, surprised; Darras holds gamely on, hands tight on the reins as Horse really starts in at a clip.]

[ Yseult goes on reading, placidly turning a page and pretending she doesn't notice the look Darras has turned on her, or anything else he's doing. She knows he's doing something, can see him shifting in her peripheral vision and, more importantly, knows him too well to believe he'd have no response.

When he takes off ahead, she smiles, snapping her book shut. She's not in a rush to follow, watching his back as she tucks the volume back into her bag, and then urges her mount forward, picking up speed more gradually. Still, she gains on him, and after a minute or two has come up alongside, keeping pace. She grins. ]

See? You're fine!

[ And then gives her horse another little kick and pulls ahead, assuming he'll give chase. ]

Fine, [stilted, by the movement of Horse, the jostle that comes of the trot Horse has broken into, his own teeth rattling around in his head,] yeah, right--

[Fine for now, fine until the bloody beast jostles him off for good and all, rids itself of a burden--which is all a rider must be to a horse, Darras can't imagine otherwise. He's hanging tightly to Horse, hands knotted around the reins and legs clutched tight, hunched a little as if to present a small target, or decrease his weight or something equally unlikely. A courteous burden, if he's got to be a burden at all.

He does not give chase, when she pulls ahead, but keeps his same pace. Surely it's good enough.]

Do a handstand!

[--A challenge, yelled at her back, as she moves ahead of him.]

[ Yseult's eyeroll can surely be felt if not seen when she looks back and finds that Darras has immediately abandoned his attempt to outpace her. It's definitely not good enough. She slows and waits for him to catch up, riding alongside again. ]

If I can do a handstand [ she asks, slowly, a not-entirely-certain proposal, ] while the horse is moving, will you pick up the pace to my liking until we hit the forest? Then I will have actually risked my neck as much as you feel like you're risking yours, so we can call it even.

Not exactly as much as I'm risking mine, is it. 'Cos you were probably doing handstands on horses before you could even bloody walk--

[Hrk, is how the K sound in that word ends, 'walhrk', as Horse jostles Darras particularly. He doesn't throw himself flat over the beast's neck and wrap his arms around it, or anything so foolish. The instinct is there.]

--but, I'm a betting man. I'll take it. If only because I want to see the trick. Never made it to the circus, when I was a kid.

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