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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Since when are you so opposed to new experiences? [ It comes with a chiding look instead of innuendo this time, shot back over her shoulder once again as Yseult leads the way into the trees.

She doesn't go far, at least not right away, just far enough off the road that she can tie her horse to a tree and have the chances of someone spotting her from the road and coming to steal her away seem minimal. She waits for Darras to do the same, unloading a smaller sack from her saddlebags, which she slings over a shoulder. ]

How many stories are set in a wood? [ she asks, attempting to break through his grumpy reluctance. She thinks about reaching for his hand, tugging him along with her, but doesn't reach out. ] And you're not at all interested to see one? Look how tall the trees are.

Never said I was opposed. I'm here, aren't I.

[He makes quick work of tying Horse off to the tree. Not that he'd be opposed, if someone were to make off with the beast--it's not his, after all. It would be damn inconvenient for their return to Kirkwall.]

I don't know many stories set in a wood, so I don't tell many stories set in a wood, 'cos I don't spend a lot of time in a wood. I have seen trees, y'know.

[All the same, he looks to where she's indicated. Tall indeed.]

How would you climb one? Those branches, they're far up there. Can't grab them from the ground. D'you just leap and hope you're able to grab on?

I know that you've seen trees. [ There is absolutely no need for Darras to see Yseult's face to know that she is rolling her eyes. ]

If it's too high to jump you use a strap looped around the trunk and then walk up. [ She mimes what she means a little, with her hands, but doesn't dwell on it.

She's led them away from the horses and the road, not far enough to get lost, but enough that when she stops moving and talking it suddenly seems very quiet. Leaves rustle, birds chirp, a small animal hops through the brush. There might be a stream through the trees a ways if they listen very carefully. ]

[The vastness of the space around them is comparatively crowded when compared to the vastness of the open sea. The trees stand close; the branches dip low, like the ceiling of a small cabin. The ambient noise is unfamiliar, the auditory equivalent of a hand rubbed wrongways against a grain. The silence, where there should be silence, is filled in. The noise, where there should be noise, is unpredictable. The sea has a rhythm like a heartbeat. Even at storm, when that heartbeat becomes wild, and erratic, Darras knows it. He's heard it all his life, in cottages and taverns, in wine-shops and markets, on docks and in boats, on ships and on coasts. To be without it is proving strange.

That's why hitching his gaze to Yseult seems safer. A drowning man might cling to a scrap of wreckage. Darras looks at Yseult, who looks the same here as she did laying in bed, or sitting on a rock in Antiva, or stood in the shadow of the little room in Llomerryn, or silhouetted by the haze of battle on the deck of the Dragon Storm.

All that sentimentality means: when she makes that motion, of how to climb a difficult tree, Darras is looking at her. His nose wrinkles.]

You what. You're having me on.

I'm not. It's not as easy as it sounds, but it's quite simple.

[ Yseult can see that he is skeptical and she could probably demonstrate if she wished. A horse blanket or a belt would work at least well enough for him to get the general idea. But instead, she puts one hand on her hip as she turns towards him, a brow arched. ]

Was doing a handstand on a horse not enough to earn me a little faith? Must I be constantly proving myself?

[Unmoved, Darras folds his arms over his chest.]

Faith I've got.

[It's possibly too declarative, for the narrow line they're walking together. He doesn't regret having said it, once he's said it. The twinge that he feels, that's more uncertainty than anything else. Does he still carry that faith in her? Yes. And then again, no. What was once good and sure is brackish, and Darras doesn't know where next to step.

Better to keep good humor. He has surer footing there. So he's quick to tip his head, like a man bartering at a market.]

Now, doing a handstand on a horse, that was to coerce me to pick up the pace, and we both know it. An arrangement we entered into willingly. What's more, this isn't me asking for you to prove yourself. This is me, thinking that using a strap, looped around the back of the tree, sounds like a mad way to climb a tree.

[ She's not going to demonstrate! Tempting as it is, given the way he's looking at her, arms crossed. She looks right back, eyes narrow. She can't quite tell whether he's in a bad mood playing at a good one, or a good mood playing at a bad one, or some muddle in between. Her powers of observation never fail her so often as with Darras. It means treading lightly if this is to remain a bearable mission. ]

You could climb a rope up but those are really the only options. And sometimes you don't have a rope. How would you climb a mast if you needed to reach the yard but there was no rigging?

I'm captain. Someone else does the climbing for me.

[Obviously. And false enough a claim to tip toward the ludicrous, which ought to be enough to indicate his mood is running closer to the good than the bad, in this moment.]

Before I was captain, now, I'd just climb it. Ever seen the green monkeys of Salle, the way they climb trees? No ropes, no strap. That's where I learned.

[ Yseult nearly laughs. Obviously false, and they both know it. He's not that sort of captain. His description prolongs her smile, though she shakes her head, pulling features into a wince. ] The splinters.

[ She leans back against the nearest tree trunk, slinging the bag on her shoulder around so she can pull out a skin of water. She drinks, and then holds it out toward him. ] Lunch? [ There's more in that bag; she came prepared. ]

Makes you tough.

[An immediate rejoinder, just the way he has for any of his stories. A grin cracks his composure, softens his eyes. In a way, this is everything he wants. Familiar patterns and conversations. Familiarity itself. They've pretended for so long, and when they're stood together like this, it's as if they could go on pretending.

He reaches out to take the skin from her.]

And here I thought we were on an assignment. Think the Inquisition would be so eager to be accepting your help, if they knew you were dawdling out here with me?

I've don't know what you're talking about, [ Yseult demures, allowing him to take the skin from her hand. ] I've never dawdled in my life.

But it is necessary to take a break from time to time to ensure that the horses don't overheat. They seemed to be straining, and I thought it best to trajectory precautions.

[ The horses looked fine. She flashes him a smile. ]

Is that it.

[He raises his eyebrows at her, gives it a beat, before he raises the water skin to get a good long drink for himself--then another quick sip, before he wipes his wrist across his mouth.]

Kind of you to be thinking of the horses. Are you sure it wasn't yourself that you were worried about? You're looking a bit pink in the cheeks. Could be that freckles start to show through soon.

I think lunch in the shade's a marvelous idea. For you. And the horses.

Freckles? I can't have that. [ Yseult deadpans. But he's not wrong, she is likely on her way to a sunburn, tan beginning to take on a pinky-red undertone that doesn't bode well. Even at sea, with the sun reflected off the water, there's always some escape between tasks, and it's not as if her work had her spending all day up in the lines. There's only so far one can adapt to sun like this.

She tosses him her bag, which contains bread mostly and some fruit, and slides down to sit at the base of the tree, leaning back against it and stretching legs out in front of her. ]

I didn't bring much I'm afraid, I didn't think it would last in this heat.

[ As she waits for him to serve himself, she presses a finger at her forearm and watches the skin pale slightly and then the color return. ] I think all my freckles may have merged into one.

Edited 2018-08-17 16:49 (UTC)

[He catches the bag mid-cross to her, and undoes the top as he's sinking down to sit beside her on the ground. Too familiar, again, too close for the distance he had set out to maintain. She's ceded ground on that distance already. He might as well do the same.

And--busy cataloging the lunch offering--he only catches the end of her assessment, the frank press of finger to forearm. It makes him grin anyways, as he holds the bread out to her, so she can tear off a hunk to start her off.]

Now, that's a disturbing image. Perhaps you'd better stay here and I'll go off and do all the work myself, and pick you up on the way back. What d'you think? Your conscience stand that sort of laziness?

[ It is too close and too familiar, too tempting. Too easy to give in to that temptation without even having to really decide to do it. A shift here, a lean there, a lucky accident of timing, an unconscious gesture. Much too easy. She doesn't move away, instead reaches over to take the water back from his lap as he's busy with the bag and drinks. It gets set in the grass between them when she's done so she can tear off a handful of bread, pulling against his grip on the loaf instead of just taking it away. ]

It might, as long as I can trust the work is being done. [ She'd never, but she is admittedly not in any great rush to get back on the road now that they've made some solid progress instead of their early plodding. ] But there have been reports of bear attacks in the mountains; I can't abandon you to be eaten.

You think I couldn't handle myself against a bear?

[He holds the bread steady, for her--and, once she's gotten her piece free, takes a bite right from the bit where she'd ripped from. Chews a little, before he adds, still with his mouth half-full--]

Could. Definitely. How big can they be? I've managed horses, now--trees, managed those-- Bears? Can't be anything.

Smaller than trees but larger than horses. [ Yseult replies between bites. ] Somewhat more dangerous than either.

[ She smiles, tearing off another chunk of bread and holding it between fingertips. ]

I've seen a bear but never had to fight one. Perhaps I imagine it more difficult than it is. Or perhaps you imagine it too easy. But I'm sure between the two of us it wouldn't be much trouble in either case.

Can't be more dangerous than one of those giant squids you find out on the Amaranthine. Much larger than a tree, doubly larger than horses. If they're more or less dangerous, I s'ppose that would depend on how you were qualifying the danger...

[Thoughtfully, he takes another bite of bread and chews it.]

Never fought one of them either. But I've prepared for it at least. Mentally, you know. So I think I could take on a bear. If it was the two of us, I'd say neither squid nor bear nor tree would stand much of a chance.

'Course, a bit of personal bias comes into me saying that. What else is in these woods, that we're going to find ourselves fighting?

[As to what else is in the sack, Darras reaches in and comes up with two pears. He holds one out to her, invitingly.]

Edited 2018-08-17 21:33 (UTC)

Those aren't actually real. [ A pause, in which she turns toward him. ] Are they? I've never heard a story of them from anyone at all reliable.

[ Including Darras, who is not at all reliable when it comes to things like this. Other things, maybe. Tales of possibly-mythic sea creatures, not a bit. She takes the pear and sets it in her lap, leaning back again and finishing off the rest of her bread piece by piece as he talks up their chances. ]

In these woods? There shouldn't be much. Wolves, maybe, and Dalish pass through sometimes, but both are more likely to steer clear of the road. Big cats, possibly. I don't spend much time in the woods.

I've heard tell from men I'd trust with my life, that they're real. And you consider me reliable, yeah? So by association, you've got to be believing in the reliability of the truth of giant man-eating squids with the massive fangs.

[He bites into his pear as punctuation, eyebrows arched with great significance.]

Might want to be adjusting the parameters on your reliable. Now, me, I trust you to be telling me the truth, that it's only wolves and bears and the Dalish that we'd have to be worrying about. Big cats. Really, the Dalish?

I don't know that I can call you reliable when it comes to prizing the truth over a good story. And giant man-eating squids with massive fangs are a very good story.

[ Yseult fixes him with a look that's skepticism and just as much eyebrows, and takes a bite of her own pear in punctuation.

She nods as she chews, saying after she's swallowed, ] They've been known to kill humans who wander across their path or their hunting grounds. I assume they're not related to those running the Inquisition.

[Chewing, he gives her a helpless it's-all-out-of-my-hands shrug. Clearly a man who would never purposefully prize truth over a good story. It might be something that happens, inadvertently.

He takes another bite as he looks about the surrounding woods, as if to pick out the shapes of Dalish creeping up on them now.]

Not that the Inquisition would know, if they were relations, considering that vetting process they do. [Or don't do.] I've heard some of them have got massive fangs as well. S'ppose that could have been only a story as well, but I can't say that with complete certainty.

Their vetting process is bizarre [ Yseult agrees, gesturing with her pear ] I come to them with an official letter of introduction, seal and all, and they have people checking up to make sure I'm legitimate before they'll trust me with anything. Anyone else wanders in off the street and claims they want to help and they're accepted without a single question asked of their background, as far as I can tell.

[ She takes another bite, shaking her head before leaning back against the tree again with a faint thunk, eyes on the canopy overhead. ] I just wish they'd give me something worthwhile to do. I haven't been stuck running messages since I was sixteen. [ a beat ] Not that this is so terrible.

Should've kept that sealed letter up your sleeve, held it for an actually useful time. You went and wasted it right up front.

[Mind, Darras isn't complaining that he wasn't carefully vetted. Nor would he complain that the Inquisition seems perfectly fine with actual pirates, fine enough that Darras could tell the truth, and he'd not likely be stuffed in a cell. A whole ship of pirates comes sailing in to the harbor, and the Inquisition lets them take up housing. It's nothing he'll be raising with Yseult, but she can't have missed that particular arrival.

Better to keep all that to himself. He takes two brisk bites, with a little smirk at the content of her complaint.]

And what is it, that would be more worthwhile, in your mind?

[ All of those pirates are certainly who Yseult has in mind when she complains about lax vetting standards; if they're allowed to just walk in openly, who all is the Inquisition unwittingly accepting? It's worked out in Darras's case, but it's not what she'd expected the Inquisition to be. Very little of it is, so far. But she doesn't want to steer this conversation there and risk giving him ammunition to renew the argument that they should both just go. ]

Intelligence-gathering. Determining which side suspected enemy sympathizers are on. Stealing correspondence between enemy agents, finding out about their meetings and spying on them, mapping their network. Feeding bad intel to those we can use, eliminating those we can't. [ She shrugs, and tucks the bite of pear she's just taken into one cheek to add ] Choosing the missions is over my head, but something that makes use of my actual skills. What do they have you doing?

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