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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

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.

"Seemed an appropriate name to me. Glad you're fine with it." The elf taps his fingers on the table, absently ordering another mug for him. Talking seems a fit distraction, he supposes. After what happened in the tunnels, he's fine with it.

Names. Coming up with a nickname comes with a few flavors; when he did it for his partner, it was with a certain amount of fondness, but he was still Malsaam. But after what happened, better to not be close again. The heart is just too fragile and he prefers to not play against those odds again.

"Where are you from, bean? Can't really seem to pin it down. Usually have an ear for this sort of thing, but it's not always easy to tell." Especially when shitfaced.

"Dancing in your head, the notes are familiar, but the song is wrong..."

No, wait. The other thing. He'd wanted to know where she was from, and her brow wrinkles. "I remember the way words sounded at home, washing up from the sea and rolling over us like warm blankets. Cumberland. But we haven't been there in a long time. It doesn't sound the way it used to anymore."

That is certainly an odd thing to say. Fate gives her a wry look, but says little else. Right now, it sounds like nonsense, but he gets the feeling it could mean something more.

Calculating is a bit hard when you're intoxicated, though.

"It's different now. I take it you were forced to leave?"

Forced? No. That was the insideousness of it, she supposed.

She'd asked for this.

Her hands fall to her hands, her fingers twisting into the fabric of her dress. "I went away. They didn't want anyone to know, had to be quiet and proper and pretend." Her head shook faintly. "But it wasn't what they thought, and then I couldn't see them anymore."

River takes a steadying breath. "I didn't want to stay. It stays inside, it never goes, but we had to get far, far away. And then we were here."

Listening to her doesn't really help his drunken mind, but it is a bit sobering. Not necessarily what he wants, and he blinks a few times before he sighs softly to himself. He'd asked, knowing it was possibly to hear her train of thought; it's like disjointed poetry, beautiful and alarming all at once. Were he of more sound mind, he'd be inclined to try to put it together.

Right now, he feels unsettled, but he figures that's not River's fault. Whatever is wrong with her, she can't seem to quite help.

"I'm sorry for askin'. Rude of me, anyway. Hardly speak of myself as it is." He chuckles wryly, humorlessly. "Should we talk about something else, bean? You like t'do anything for fun?"

It was indeed a dismal subject, and his discomfort could be felt creeping off of him. He'd come here to get away from that, and she'd brought it back. She had to get better about that.

So she concentrates, tries to remember when she's at her happiest. Her mind drifts to that day in the courtyard, with that strange girl in the tree playing her music. "...I like to dance," she admits, after a moment.

"I haven't danced in ages," he murmurs.

He can't remember it clearly. Maybe it was in a tavern, and he was flirting with a barmaid or two, Malsaam refusing to have any part of it. The last time he'd done anything before that, with the clan--

No, he'd rather not go there. And not after Malsaam, either. Really, had it been that long?

"Maybe we should find a reason to, sometime. When I'm certain I won't be tripping over my own feet, hm?" He cracks a smile.

There's shame there, guilt. It radiates off of him, and hiding under a hat makes more sense now than it did before.

"It's not the same as before." Her nose wrinkles. "There were...other things. Catching sunsets with a brush or climbing high to see how far the world could spread. But the colors are different. They're harder to catch."

No, that's wrong. It's going back to the dark places again, and she doesn't want that. River gives Twisted Fate a questioning look. "...faces on the table. Faces in your hand, and two in your sleeve."

Before, her cryptic words were strange but fascinating before, full and dour and oddly poetic. He liked to listen, even if he did not always understand.

But her last words make him pause, almost sober. His brows raise slightly, and he feels strangely unnerved, an almost foreign sensation. Carefully, his fingers trace over the top of his glass, and he breathes almost cautiously.

"A good gambler has several," Twisted Fate says finally, his voice calm but his heart slightly less so. "And I have several more. You're a perceptive one, bean. But I get the feeling you have a question. Can you ask it?"

"Could you teach me to play?"

Perhaps not the question he was waiting for, judging by the way he was bracing himself before inviting it. But there are some things she doesn't need to ask. The secret's there, a thorn deep in his paw, but removing it would take time. And he'd need to want to. She doesn't have to be that person, and now isn't that time.

Instead she continues to peer up at him, all child-like curiosity.

Is that what she meant, or something else? It's a bit hard to tell, and though he hesitates he seems to settle with her question well enough.

He lets out a low laugh, quiet, and he reaches into his coat. A deck of cards is settled onto the table and he looks at her. This is something he can do, no matter how intoxicated he is.

"Easily," Fate says, grinning faintly. "Wicked Grace, Diamondback, or something else? I know them all."

She stares at the cards for a moment, considering, her nose scrunching once more. Her fingers reach out, delicately tracing the top of the deck.

"Vices and virtues, all in a row. I've never played with cards," she admits after a moment. "We never had them at home. Not proper for ladies to learn."

Which wasn't true. Plenty of women played the game. But their parents had their sense of propriety, and after Simon left they would have done anything to try and preserved it. After that there hadn't much time for games at all.

"Not proper? Hell, that's up to you, not someone else." He chuckles. "Though I don't rightly intend to teach you the improper way."

Not yet, anyway. A cheater keeps his tricks to himself -- for the most part.

"Suppose we ought to start with something simple. You know what's in a deck, though, don't you?"

She shook her head, leaning closer in order to get a better look. Twisted Fate had a rapt student now, eager to learn. She could have gotten the information some other way, of course, but having him show her would be much clearer. Less confusing.

And she liked the sound of his voice, even when it was slurred. His accent came through when he wasn't trying so hard to hide it, soft and lilting like the Dalish.

With a smooth hand, he slides the cards out, revealing them much more clearly to her. When he continues to speak, more of his native accent comes out, and he doesn't seem entirely aware of it.

"Now then. You have the serpents, songs, angels, knights, and daggers. Easy to remember when you look at 'em, but knowing your suits helps when playing Wicked Grace. Rules are pretty simple to know; once the deck is shuffled, dealer ensures all players have a hand of five cards. Players are gonna draw and discard cards, and then play 'em. They can play the cards upside-down in order to enhance their hands until a card shows up in their deck."

Fate holds up the card in question. "Angel of Death. The game's over when this card appears, then all players got to show their hands. Non-matching cards lose, and the more matchin' you got the better off you'll be. Y'get the idea?"

She nods, though she gives the serpents a wary look. Her teeth run briefly along her lower lip as she plays her fingers over the other cards, taking in the pretty illustrations denoting sins and virtues. It made enough sense.

"I want to try it."

It would make more sense in practice, seeing the way the cogs rolled together. And it would give him a distraction.

"And I would enjoy playing with you." Fate cracks a grin and smooths the cards back into a stack. "Shall I deal, or you?"

For this, he thinks, he would not cheat. It wouldn't be fun, and there's nothing at stake here. Playing with honest intentions is not typical for him, but this is for fun and River is learning.

Plus, there's nothing they're betting on.