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WHO: Twisted Fate & OPEN
WHAT: A return to Skyhold.
WHEN: Roughly around the 10th or so of Haring
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: Different prompts inside! (Lyrium not included) If none suit you, feel free to make your own prompt!

♠ TAVERN
It seemed a good of a time as any to be shitfaced.

Frankly, he's not sure what he expected by creeping around tunnels under what remained of the Temple of Andraste. He knew it wasn't going to be overly pleasant, but he'd been anticipating no more than a romp around ruins, gutted remains, and little to do more than sketch out a few maps and send them off to the advisors, assuming it would do them any good.

Spirits aren't always bad, but hell if they aren't a pain in the ass sometimes.

So, Twisted Fate is in his more preferred environment, ordering another drink for himself as he loathingly broods, a hobby he'd never enjoyed. There are more entertaining things to be doing, but this will do for now.

Will you or won't you join him?

♠ COURTYARD
"Ladies and gentlemen, what you're about to behold is magic in a way you've not quite experienced before. Transmutation! What you see here in my hand is a jar, fits in my hand quite nicely. Freshly churned butter! What I will be doing is transforming this simple item into something else."

Twisted Fate shrugs off his coat, hanging it on a branch nearby before he's holding out the jar. Approaching one of the on-lookers, he winks at her and holds out his hand.

"Does the lady have a handkerchief I could borrow? Thank you." He accepts the handkerchief, stepping back as he holds up the jar.

"Ordinary handkerchief. Nothing unusual about it. And yet..." After draping the cloth over the jar, he tugs it away quickly to reveal--

A tiny nug in his hand.

"And there you have it! Off you go." Fate crouches down and releases the little thing before returning the handkerchief to the lady. "Much appreciated. Thank you, thank you -- I'm here, well, as long as until they send me off again."

♠ GARDEN
In Twisted Fate's left hand are papers, and he's looking distant and thoughtful as he reads them over. A letter, perhaps. Difficult to say, but he seems very intent as he looks over the contents.

In his other hand, an arrowhead, being rubbed by a thumb.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

That tiny nug has got to be just about the cutest thing Alfsigr has every seen in her entire life. Not that she has a storied history of spotting cute things, but she's read books and some of them have pictures. And her imagination supplies illustrations just fine.

Deep down she knows there just isn't any way butter was really transfigured into a nug. If it were possible, she'd have learned to do it ages ago. She'd have loved a pet in the Circle tower. "That was amazing!" Although she knows it can't be real, she's delighted all the same. "Wherever did you learn to do such a thing?"

Edited (Subject lines are cool or something.) 2015-12-10 21:17 (UTC)

It's obvious the magic isn't real, and he knows it -- but that's part of the entertainment. Is knowing that there's a trick, but the secret will remain unshared. Really, her delight is an excellent payoff to the performance.

Twisted Fate removes his hat and gives a little boy. "You learn a lot of things traveling, and I found I had a knack for this sort of thing. Suppose I've always been a bit theatrical." He grins at her. "Twisted Fate is the name. To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking with right now?"

The girl gasps and gives him another swift and enthusiastic round of applause. "I'm so impressed!" Wait. "Oh! That's not my name, though. That's just how I'm feeling. My name's Alfsigr."

Her hands are clasped together as she leans forward and peers around after where the nug ran off to, curious to catch sight of it again. She isn't distracted for long though, turning her attention back to him. It's rude to ignore someone you're in conversation with! "I'm not nearly so good at flashy stuff."

The delight that she exudes is absolutely endearing. It makes him smile a little more genuinely before he's tipping his hat to her. "Alfsigir, the pleasure is all mine."

He watches the way she looks around, and already suspects what she is seeking. An amused look forms on his face before he's offering his arm out to her. "It takes quite a bit of practice to know your audience. What is it that you normally do, madame?"

The offered arm is taken after only the barest moment of consideration. It would be rude not to.

Do?" Alfsigr blinks several times, not quite understanding. "Oh, I'm nobody special. I... I'm from the Circle. I study, mostly, or assist the other mages."

"Why would you ever say that's nothing special?" he wonders genuinely, gently leading her through the courtyard as he keeps his eyes peeled. She seemed enamored with the nug, so he might as well see if he can find the little scamp.

"We all come from different walks of life. I think being able to assist is respectable, and here I am putting on a little performance to the amusement of others -- and that's not even my main profession."

"Well, I'm not part of the Council, and I've never been to the Orlesian court. I've never been an advisor on magical matters." The sliver of a grin that her mouth slices across her face seems almost contrarian to her personality thus far. "And I can't turn butter into nugs."

Then it all slips back into wide-eyed curiosity. "What's your main profession?"

"I think that just makes you smart. Politics is a messy affair, and one would be much happier to not be part of it. And Orlesian court is as fancy as you'd expect, and three times as stressful; still politics, as ever, and that is a chore when it should be a damned party." He pauses, then chuckles. "But you've got me there. Butter to nugs is a special trick, after all."

He tilts his head. "I do many things, but I'm an escape artist. I suppose it should be fortunate those services are not often asked for, but there hasn't been a place I couldn't escape from yet."

Alfsigr blinks, her mouth pulling into a small frown. "I thought all the Orlesians did was throw parties. Parties where people poison each other's wine, sure, but that's still a party, right?" She hasn't been to many parties, clearly.

"An escape artist? That sounds exciting!"

"Well, certainly, among other things. You slightest bit of behavior all plays into the Game. The way you dress, the way you blink, what time you come to the ballroom; a lot of work, in my opinion. Fun to watch, less fun to be part of." He pauses, then adds wryly, "The pastries are lovely, though."

He chuckles. "Sometimes, far too exciting. I've escape several dungeons and prisons, and evaded capture on more than one occasion for sure. Have to learn to be on your feet out there. Never been part of a Circle myself. Suppose that's safer, until the rebellion? I've only heard stories."

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Daylen is eyeing him sceptically. He knows magic. He has read about all kinds of magic. This is not magic, this is surely some sort of con. Or worse: something completely forbidden.

"That wasn't magic."

Twisted Fate gives a dramatic gasp, his eyes widening.

"No! It wasn't? Goodness, I wonder where my butter went, then!"

"I don't know. I was hoping perhaps you could tell me."

He stares at him accusingly, clearly expecting an answer. Preferably now please.

Twisted Fate shrugs, as if helpless. "I don't know what to tell you. I suppose it's gone, gone forever -- turned into a nug. I wonder if that makes the nug extra buttery? Suppose only a dwarf would know."

The elf sighs, his entire reaction theatric. "I suppose if you ever find out, do let me know?"

Daylen stares at him, then at the rest of the audience. Far too many of whom seem to be finding this whole display entertaining.

"You realise you aren't being funny."

Apparently he's one of the few who doesn't think so.

"On the contrary, I'm hilarious. It just seems like you don't have a funny bone in your body, my friend." Twisted Fate gives an all-too-familiar, all-too-friendly pinch to Daylen's arm.

"Do you know how to smile? Is it really very hard? It must hurt!"

She moves too slow and silent to be of much notice in the tavern, full of light and noise and boisterous movement. It's a good place to be when the whispers grow too needlesome, the noise here blending together like an ambient hum. Who needs drinking?

Well. Someone does. A familiar someone at that.

So it shouldn't be a surprise when Twisted Fate looks up from his drink and River stands at the edge of his table, dark eyes watching him with interest. Almost unblinkingly.

Not unnerving at all, surely.

After spending years on his toes and learning everything he could to survive by himself, Twisted Fate had grown accustomed to being aware of his surroundings and knowing when someone was sneaking up behind him. Or, at least, he'd like to think so.

And yet, here she is: the girl from before. River, he thinks, is her name. That's what he'd found out, anyway, after some poking. More than that, he doesn't know much about her, other than she's a bit odd in the head but very perceptive.

Regardless, she's close to startling him, and he blinks when their eyes meet.

"You're quiet as a mouse, bean," he remarks, his more native Dalish accent coming out than usual. "Somethin' I can help you with?"

Bean. He called her that before, too, and her lips curve faintly at the memory.

"You were loud," she explains, though he's been doing little but sitting here brooding and looking surly. It doesn't stop her from draping herself into a nearby seat, feet pulled up to rest on the chair's edge and hugging her knees. "I remember you," she added, as if that clarified everything.

"I don't think I've been especially talkative tonight." Which is a change up for him, to be sure. Maybe she's just confused, but then, he isn't too sure with her. She's certainly a curious one.

Fate cracks a smile as he looks her over. "And I remember you," he says. "In the courtyard, when the templar showed up. You seemed to understand him."

"It's empty inside. Everything else is full and flowing, but the veins are hollow and waiting to be filled again." She shakes her head quietly. "They took him down and hid him in the stones. Won't hurt but won't stop hurting. He was afraid."

Her teeth rake over her lower lip delicately.

"They're not afraid of you, the way they were of him."

It's an interesting manner of speaking. Perceptive, almost poetic, but certainly off. A trail of words that take him a moment to understand as he processes it.

"A lot of templars are afraid of mages. I'm sure they'll put him somewhere useful when he's of more sound mind."

There's a small snort. "Yes, well, I'm a spooky Dalish elf apostate. Different reasons to be scared, I suppose. And what about you, eh? With the cryptic words and such."

"I'm not afraid of you, either."

Not a direct answer, perhaps, but he should be getting used to that by now.

There was no reason to be afraid of him, of course. Perhaps some would be. There was always that danger for mages, dancing too close to the Veil, and just one slip could mean a monster, a danger, dead and dying. They were watching him now, she could feel the prickle of their presence on her skin, but he was safe.

For the moment.

Naturally, he's not certain why he'd expect a straight answer from her. He'll just have to get used to it; it's not as if she means any harm, and her intentions seem good enough for him. Whatever they might be.

He grins faintly. "Well, we have that in common. I'm not afraid of you, even if I think you might be a bit odd. But, well, most would say that about me too, wouldn't they?"

He pauses, then says, "It's River, isn't it? Lovely name. Sort of want to stick with the nickname, though, if it's no bother to you."

"Bean. Not for sustenance. Seeds to sow and grow. Small and in need of nurturing," she murmurs absently, her toes wiggling. It's him keeping her at a distance, the wrong name. But it makes him feel safer...

But it's muddled after that. His tipsy state has a little bleed over, and she lowers her chin to the top of her knees with a nod. Bean it is.