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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[ 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.

I could walk [ is not really much of a denial. Yseult awaits his agreement and then nods smartly. ] Deal.

[ She considers, looking closely at the saddle in a way she had not bothered to before, and standing up in the stirrups to tug on it, side to side, testing how much it moves. ] One of the last times I did this [ she tells him as she prepares, leaning down to tighten a buckle, and then pulling her feet up out of the stirrups to kneel in the saddle, still holding on with both hands, just getting the feel of it ] I was about ten? I fell, and I accidentally tugged the horse's mane hard trying to catch myself. The horse was understandably angry about that, and bit me. Hopefully this will go better.

She could walk.

[Confided, sarcastically, conspiratorially, to the back of Horse's head. The effect is somewhat spoiled by the jostling still very much present in his voice, as Horse trots briskly along.

Her story gets a bit of a grin out of him, though it does nothing to assuage his apprehension. In many ways, the rare story of Yseult's youth is to be savored. She doesn't talk of it much. She would have, probably, had Darras asked it of her--asked it of her more than he did, those times when wine sweetened both of their mouths, when they were together, in the dark--sat on the beach, with a little fire burning between them, and the tide rolling in, black at night, brilliant azure by day. Then it seemed like something to be asked, something they could speak of.]

You're doing nothing to make me feel better about this, y'know. Truly gifted and trained at this, and you'll still be maybe falling from your horse. And being bitten, which proves my point about ill-will and all that.

You could still stop me. [ Yseult points out, with a little tip of her head, almost a shrug. ] If you agreed to ride faster there wouldn't be any need to risk my neck to persuade you.

[ But that's not going to happen, and anyway, she kind of wants to see whether she can, now. She's never been a show-off, or even much a thrill-seeker, but that doesn't mean there's no enjoyment to be found in exercising her skills, especially when the alternative is as unpleasant as a plodding hours-long ride in miserable weather. And if it makes Darras smile, that one where his eyes go a little wide like he can't quite believe what he's looking at, well. There's that. ]

This would be easier without boots. [ But he'd have to release his double-handed deathgrip on the reins to hold them for her, so she leaves them on, getting a good grip around the front corners of the saddle. Legs dangling on either side of the horse again, she presses up and takes a testing swing, forward and back, the momentum helping throw her legs up into the air behind her as she rolls her weight forward onto her hands. She doesn't quite get all the way into a handstand, but the potential seems there. Her horse makes a confused whuffling sound but continues plodding onward. ]

Alright [ Yseult says, tucking the front of her shirt into her trousers ] That was only a test, it didn't count. This next one I'm going to do it.

Could stop you, but for all my fears, I believe in you--

[And he does, that's true. More than anyone. It isn't fear exactly, either. If he were pressed, truly pressed, by some threat or some real burning need, then Darras would put heels to Horse (if that's truly what drives the beasts on, if there's not some secret and better way) and send it leaping forward. This is apprehension, and apprehension is what keeps you alive, with your teeth in your head and your bones whole, your boots without horseshit on them and your arms unbitten by horseteeth.

Now, if she were to have dared him. That would have been something different. A dare is a winning hand, with Darras. Sort of childish, when put like that, but a dare is what keeps you alive in a different sort of fashion.

She's turning herself up before he's even finished any of those thoughts, properly--and when she nearly swings herself off, Darras makes this sort of grab for her, like he'll keep her from falling, or catch her if she does.]

Yseu, [is all that he gets up before, as usual, she proves to need no catching. Cuts off the errant move, resolves it on her own, and Darras remembers that he's to be holding to his own reins--which he does, hurried--]

Andraste's tits, thought I'd be seeing your--

[Brains dashed out, but superstitiously, he cuts those words off.]

Slow your bloody horse at least, eh--when's the last time you did this?

That's why I tucked my shirt in, [ Yseult jokes, ignoring his very real concern with a roll of her eyes over toward him, amused, dry. ]

Darras, if I ask the horse to go any slower than this she'll just stop, and that isn't the deal that we made. I'll be fine. It isn't even that far to fall.

[ She's determined now, and not about to be swayed by his sudden misgivings, not after she got the feel for the possibility of it on that first half-attempt. She takes a wider grip on the saddle this time, prepares the same way as before, back and forth in time with her mare's slow walk, and then all at once kicks her legs up, pushes both arms straight, and there it is: a handstand. It's far from perfect form, legs bent and shifting to hold her balance, head at an odd angle, but she holds it for several full seconds before awkwardly lowering herself back down, half-kneeling on the back of the horse, still gripping the saddle before hauling herself back into it, red-faced.

She smooths her hair back with a hand, and straightens the collar of her shirt and pretends she isn't pretty proud of that. ]

It turns out that getting back down is the hard part.

Edited 2018-08-12 09:00 (UTC)

Disappointing, the tucking-- [Too familiar; the caution barely registers, a flicker on his periphery--] but you know what I mean--and you're not going that slowly--

[But of course--of course--she does as she pleases. And despite his apprehension, Darras would have to admit, if forced, pressed, otherwise coerced, that he wold have it no other way. There should be no one that stands in the way of Yseult doing as she pleases. If she could just not dash her brains out as she was doing it, that would be lovely.

But of course (of course) she manages, brilliantly, hauls herself up into a bloody handstand on the back of a moving horse. With that peculiar mixture of apprehension and pride and some other more difficult emotion muddying it all up, Darras feels a seize in his chest--and he grins, he can't help himself. The moment hangs, a few seconds, and then she's hoisted herself back down again, graceful as anything, and Darras, like a fool, is still wearing a smile.]

Marvelous. [Dry, in contrast to that expression. He takes firmer hold of the reins, ready for her to demand he make good on his promise.] And you with your brains still in your head. Is this what the Inquisition hired you for?

[ She catches that grin--sees it but is caught by it, too, a smile of her own forming that she doesn't quite help, bright and proud and pleased by his reaction. ]

Yes, [ she confirms, ducking her head to fiddle with her shirt and unwind the reins from the saddlehorn where she'd looped them ] Clumsy circus tricks, to improve morale in the ranks. You can join me and put your card and coin tricks to similar use.

[ Once she and her horse are settled again, it is, as he fears, time to call in her prize. She gathers the reins up again and looks over, brow lifting in question. Deeming him ready enough, she urges her horse into a trot, determined to speed up but willing to at least ease him into it. ]

Oh, aye? Thanks for the permission, but I don't know if I'm quite on your level--a true professional and all, born to it. I can impress pirates, and girls in taverns. Women in taverns, too.

[Women called Yseult, is the unsaid qualifier, implied by his deliberate separation of that third category.]

Real men and women of the Inquisition, now. They might be tougher to trick.

[Probably not. Yseult is a different story--no easy mark, her, not when it counts--and so he takes his reins more firmly and tries to imitate her. Horse starts a brisk trot, jarring Darras' teeth in his head. He turns his grimace to a forced grin.]

Don't s'ppose I can talk my way out of this.

[ He gets a little roll of her eyes for his half-demurral--he knows full well he's more than capable of holding a crowd's attention, and any skill he might lack in sleight of hand will be more than made up for in showmanship. The fine men and women of the Inquisition wouldn't stand any better chance than she did.

But nothing's getting him off the hook now. She's won the wager fair and square. His question gets a quick and unsympathetic shake of her head. ] No. [ She smiles, and urges her horse faster. ] Keep up now.

[ The road stays flat for only another mile or so before it begins rolling upwards, gentle isolated hills at first, but they grow in size and frequency, until they are hardly down one before beginning to climb the next. The farms along the road give way to forest and eventually the trees overhang the road enough to provide some shade, and persuade Yseult to give the horses (and Darras) a break. ]

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