faderift | (closed) i can't say the words out loud

The offices that have been granted for the Chantry Relations project to work have always been notably quiet, a thoughtful grace to it which was unsurprising given their work here and the folk that sometimes come to them in seeking help or work. Saoirse has found some sadness to it all since Herian has left to her new position and became the Inquisition's ambassador if only because it is harder to see her friend, her sister-- what will all her important meetings and the delegates that pour in from time to time. Now she stands in this office with a quiet hum, this project's new leader and utterly lost on how she might even find a starting point in this group's sensitive needs.

Her fingers trace the edge of a desk, one that Herian once sat at and that she sat opposite of her many times with a careful little frown. "I wonder if they shall even take me seriously, the Chantry officials we shall meet with in the future," she says with a glance over to Prompto, her grounding force in this whirlwind of information and new appointments. "An elf and a mage leading a group focused on Chantry work, on building relations. They might laugh or spit if they do not think me a servant at first."

She does mean to be so saddening or pessimistic-- this is a happy moment yet she cannot help but wonder. Although her love for the Chantry is deep, perhaps deeper than deserved there is not much love to be found from those who sit in position of power within the Chantry's order.

The Chantry doesn't deserve her (neither does he, but hey...) Saoirse's good and kind, and she wants to help this institution so badly. And he fears that her worries may be founded, that no one will take her seriously and write her off. It rankles him. And much like their relationship, though he is no more deserving, she chose this, and so he will support her wholeheartedly.

"You're going to change their minds. Maybe they won't at first, but once they get to know you and see you in action, they'll realize they were wrong." Or so he very much hopes. He knows this means everything to her, and he wants to see her succeed. "And if anyone spits at you, you tell me. I'll give them more than a hocked logey to complain about."

Prompto. Prompto no.

She blinks once and then twice at his words before a chuckle bubbles up, forcing her to cover her mouth. She truly cannot help her giggles, happy at least to laugh when everything has been so maddening and filled to the breaking point with worries that she could not help but constantly fret over.

"You always know how to make me feel better," she says with a bright smile back to him. "Though I think we might... consider other means if they are do any sort to me or the other here. I would not wish to break down talks so quickly."

Carefully she approaches and reaches out for one of his hand with a slight hum. "Although the temptation to light the bottoms of their robes on fire will be a difficult one."

Prompto smiles widely as she giggles, despite herself. When she's happy, he's happy, and she's never more beautiful than when she smiles. "Hey now, I never said what I'd do. Maybe I can do something they'll hate, then you swoop in and make everything better and they'll thank you for intervening." He'll gladly help boost her public image at his expense. It's not like he has nobles or Chantry officials or anyone really to court. He's just a scout.

It's his turn to chuckle at her own suggestion. "Now that'd be a sight. Deeefinitely would ruin relations though." He takes her hand and squeezes.

"And then they shall call you a demon or some other similar terrible word. Once more I will find myself faced with the temptation of lighting robes on fire." Her nose scrunches slightly, her features half thoughtful but clearly playful. "It really would be such a terrible temptation to ignore."

Although her smile remains, she cannot help but sigh once the worries begin to creep back into the forefront because she can laugh and joke with Prompto now but there was little laughter to be found when dealing with those who wished for as little change as possible.

"I just hope I will be able to do good for those that are overlooked," she says as her free hands comes idly play with the collar of his shirt. "I wish for so very much but I am unsure where to even start."

"Well I don't think you should ignore it. You could say it was at the urging of the Maker. Or... Andraste, I guess, since the Maker's gone." Right? Sometimes he can't keep the tenets of that faith straight... He has a hard enough time with his own.

Oh no no, not that sigh. He misses her smile immediately, but he also understands some lame jokes and cracks on his part aren't going to make her worries go away. "Maybe see where Herian left off? Wrapping up old business or whatever was started might be best. Work your way from there."

"They might have me committed if I were to say it was at the urging of Andraste," she says with a small laugh. "Although it would be in line since she did lead her own army, once upon a time."

Glancing up, Saoirse nods and idly swings their hands. "Perhaps. I will have to wait until she returns from Tevinter as I am sure she is quite busy with her first trip as Ambassador."

"And I'm sure she'd totally understand the impulse." Andraste's always depicted as rather serious and whatnot, but Prompto likes to believe she had a sense of humor. Given what she went through, he thinks she would have needed one to get through it all. It's how he and his friends got through the worst of things: by their bonds and through laughter. (Maybe not, maybe it was all just strength and perseverance and sheer willpower, but maybe, at the very least, the laughter made it easier. It did for him, anyway)

"That's a heck of a place to have her first run as Ambassador." He scrunches his nose at the thought. Any place that allows slavery automatically gets relegated to "utter shithole" status. "I don't know how anyone can stomach going there."

With Prompto's help there is now little touches to the office that certainly reflects its new leader although Saoirse herself hovers around with nervous energy from time to time. Perhaps that is why she seeks out Myr and invites him to a much needed gathering with much needed tea that smells of honeysuckles. It certainly seems in line with the new flowers and other sweet smelling plants that has been placed about the office space, helping to bring some new color and light to the space with intent of reflecting the project's newest lead appointment. Although said lead stands quietly near an open window, nursing her tea and shuffling her weight between feet in some attempt not to pace.

It helps to focus on her friend, she finds and sigh pleasantly. "It has been far to long since we have had the chance to sit and talk. I am glad, despite how busy everything has been, that we have this chance," she says with a hum. "How have you been? Well, I hope."

Even without being able to see the changes Saoirse has made to her office, Myr can sense them-- In the bright scent of the flowers, the freer movement of air and the particular fall of the sun that bespeak a more open space. It's peaceful--not the same shape of peace as the Grove or one of the little chapels, but soothing to the heart all the same. Exactly, he thinks as he takes a sip of his tea, what one might hope for in a space committed to building harmony with the Chantry.

Though obviously the spell hasn't quite caught hold of the office's owner; her obvious nervousness is something Myr can appreciate with a sad, quiet sympathy. "It really has been too long--and thank you for the invitation; I've needed the break."

Which says a little of exactly how he has been; there's always more to do about the Inquisition, always more to...overcommit to. "Well enough, though much better now for spending time in your company," said with a smile. "And you? How've you been settling in?"

There is a peace to be found in the Gallows' gardens that is hard to find anywhere else within this place or even in Kirkwall proper. She remembers back when this place at still been a Circle, her home and how she had looked out the windows to the small garden spaces with envy. How often she had wished to come out and stand in the grass, feel the sun on her skin and enjoy the flowers that reminded her so much of the wildflowers that grew in the valley that nestled Starkhaven. She had not thought of this place in a long, long time but has recently found that peace once more as Saoirse became more intent on keeping the garden growing strong and practicing what little Creation magic she could summon.

Currently she sits atop a knitted quilt of various colors beneth the branches of a small tree, humming a hymn and busily crafting the flowers in her hand into the more familiar shape of a crown while shiny, colorful river glass rests in a small basket nearby with smooth stonse also plucked from the nearby waters. It is only when she approaching footsteps that she looks up, a smile upon her face as she greets Cade.

"I'm glad you could make it," she says with a nod to the spot on the blanket beside her. "Sit, please. I bought a few things out with me if you are hungry. I had not planned on this becoming a picnic but it quickly turned into one as I thought of what might be best when I asked you to meet with me."

Saoirse makes Cade nervous. Being a pretty girl doesn't help her case, but there's also the fact that he literally kept her subjugated for many years while they both led their existences here, and with all the new things people are saying about mage freedom and elf rights and all that, it makes him deeply uncomfortable. But on some level, he likes her, and always has. Even if it was just because she never caused any problems.

He smiles faintly when she greets him, and after some awkward shuffling, takes a seat by her with a small nod to prompt her on.

Saoirse has never been good with woodworking. Her father, with his many talents, could craft a great many simple things although much of his work went into toys for her in her youth. She could remember sitting on the floor of their home and watching him with wide eyes as his fingers worked, carving and cutting until the block of unassuming wood transformed into something incredible. It was a similar feeling as she watched Nari worked whenever she happened to spy the other woman around the Gallows. It was incredible, truly and she always considered staying around to watch for longer before ultimately returning to the shadows and her own work.

But today is different with new appointments having been announced. She had been returning to the project's office when she spots Nari, slowly her steps before adjusting her steps to approach the other woman with a bright smile. They have not spoken much but their mission those months before had helped, she found, in the two getting to know one another better and she would be forever thankful for the other's help in a mission that became much harder than originally thought.

"Congratulations are in order, Nahariel. I could not think of a better person to hold the title of Master of Works." It is said lightly as she approaches, announcing her herself and offering her small bow her head in greeting.

It's a title Nari seems to be bearing fairly seriously, if the armful of parchment rolls and books she's carrying are any indication. She turns her head at Saoirse's greeting to smile at her, knocking a scroll off the top of her pile as she does so. She makes a dismayed noise and manages to catch it on her ankle before it hits the ground, which would be a more impressive feat if she had anything to follow that up with.

"Huh," she observes, and then nods cheerfully at the mage. "Good morning! I was actually just coming to see you. Do uh—" Nari looks down at the scroll. "Do you think you could grab that for me?"

Certainly it is hard not to see the seriousness in how she is accepting her new titles. Although she returns the smile, it is thrown off as the scroll is knocked down and falls to the ground. Immediately Saoirse moves forward to help, nodding happily as she is asked for help and humming.

"To see me?" She asks with a small raise of her brows yet continuing to smile pleasantly as she lifts up, gingerly setting the scroll with the others. "And you already so busy, I see."

Nari flashes a thankful grin as Saoirse replaces the scroll, and then nods at her. "That's actually what I came about. What with Minrathous taken and the war escalating in Orlais, the development of our siege and siege defense capability seems pretty important. I imagine the leadership thinks so too, or they wouldn't have appointed someone for it." She readjusts her armful of material.

"I'd still like to help with the project, of course, but I was wondering if you wouldn't mind considering me otherwise engaged for the moment. Unless it's something I'm particularly suited for, at least."

She can't really imagine what that might be, but Nari's sure Saoirse knows what she's doing.

It is not often that Saoirse finds herself at Kirkwall's harbor with eyes onto the sea outstretched beyond the city-state. She remembers these waters, murky yet reflecting the fires in the city, once upon a time when she sought to get as far away from the Free Marches as possible. Instead she now awaits a ship to bring someone to her instead of a ship to take her away from this place. It has become a daily ritual now to come and wait, staring at the sea and idly fiddle with the knitting in her hands although it has yet to take any real shape.

Needless to say, when word comes on returns from Minrathous, she is there waiting until ships pull to the docks. There are a few familiar faces, some unfamiliar but her eyes search for one face in particular. A part of her thinks it perhaps have been best to wait at the Gallows until things have settled, they have settled back in from an escape and flight from danger. Logic, it turns out, is useless when their journey into the Anderfels still smolders somewhere in the depths of her heart like charred bones and lingers deep in her veins whispering to her of her deepest fears.

Yet she spots Herian upon the dock, a flash of dark colors and wavy hair. Her body jolts and she hurries into the crowd, slipping past other reuniting friends, families and lovers until she can throw her arms around the other woman. The words she thought to speak come out choked, a half-sob and buries her face against Herian's shoulder as the worried emotions finally spill out.

Honestly, Herian is relieved to be on solid ground again. She has gotten a little more tolerant of travel by boat and ship during her time with the Inquisition, but none of her journeys have been quite like that, and she doesn't really see, register, anyone immediately because she finally feels like she's not in danger of being ill if she doesn't keep part of her focus on her breathing.

So, suffice to say, the quite whump as Saoirse collides with her isn't unwelcome, but she does feel her stomach churn a little unhappily. It takes a further second to process Saoirse and Saoirse sad and Saoirse sad, need hug. Her arms raise to hug around Saoirse, and she gives her best friend a kiss on the temple as her own breathing steadies. And maybe, finally, the shock of everything that has been unfolded has a chance to settle on her a little, after all this time spent focusing on duty (and avoiding sea-sickness.)

"Mo charaid. All will be well." She could not claim all was so now; they had Inquisition members left behind in Tevinter, people needing help.

For a moment all that Saoirse can do is squeeze Herian tighter in her arms. There is this small voice, a small whisper of 'what-ifs' that perhaps this is all some dream brought to life in the Fade and her friend, her sister is truly not here in her arms. But as the hug is returned and she registers the pressure of lips against her temple does she looks up with watery eyes.

"It is my hope that you are right," she whispers. "My friend from the Gallows, Gareth... he is still there. We must rescue him and the others."

(closed) i can't say the words out loud

— prompto

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— myr

this is precious and i'm a snail @ii

— cade

ARRIVES TEN YEARS LATE WITH STARBUCKS SORRY

— nari

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— herian

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