Open

[keenly]

WHO: Colin, Nathaniel, and you
WHAT: Open Log
WHEN: Present
WHERE: Kirkwall
NOTES: Will update.

I: INFIRMARY

The door to the infirmary is closed today, with a sign posted that reads

WELCOME - DO NOT LET THE CAT OUT

Colin thought it best. He couldn't bear to leave Ghast alone, locked into a small bedroom on his own. The poor creature has been through enough. So the cat is settled onto a pillow, tucked up like a loaf of bread, his massive black ears relaxed, yellow eyes half-closed. He is a lean, long-faced beast who is wary of strangers.

The healer himself is looking a little tired, hair sloppily braided back in a half-ponytail, sleeves rolled up as he works minerals and herbs into medicine. New to some is the tattoo of a saffron flower on his left arm. New to everyone is the piercing in the lobe of his right ear, a simple steel stud that complements the ever-present hoop in the cartilage of the same ear. Both tattoo and piercing are symptomatic of an itch under his skin, a sense that he does not own himself. He had once thought the Inquisition a refuge. Now, he knows it for a war from. Now, he has lost a friend in this war, though there is no certainty of Gareth's death. Yet.

II: BATHS - TEMPLAR TOWER

This is not the tower where Colin lives, but he needs hot water tonight. He maneuvers into a long linen shirt without exposing an inch of skin--pulling the shirt on, undressing from underneath, and finally putting his arms through the sleeves. He tugs his hair free and walks into the bath, white fabric pooling around him as he goes deeper, till it soaks through and sinks around his calves.

Once settled, he lathers soap over top of the shift and lets it rinse. The same soap is used for shaving and washing his hair. When everything is done, he sinks back into the water, looking up at the ceiling while his dark hair fans out around his head. His ears are underwater, but this is a public bath. He will try not to be surprised by your arrival.

III: KITCHEN - MAGE TOWER

Cooking has always been Colin's chief coping tool, and it is sort of nice now not to have to get up before dawn to be off to the market on days he wants to cook. Of course he still does, so he can get the freshest ingredients. But because his hours are flexible now, he can change things up. Today, he can make breakfast. Breakfast is, in his opinion, the best meal of the day. There's the comfort of breakfast food, how the hunger at the first meal makes everything taste better, and how a good breakfast really sets a person up for the rest of the day.

Breakfast today is hot, crusty bread, a potato omelet made with fresh eggs, and ripe peaches in cream. Most of the ingredients were already on-hand, either from his stores or the Inquisition's, so the out-of-pocket cost was minimal. But unlike most of Colin's meals, this one is free. Come on in and grab a plate.

IV: GREY WARDEN OFFICE

Everything is stupid.

Nathaniel has been staring at these maps all day and nothing has changed. Jonas saved the world, married the fair lady, and died thinking the very worst he would have to worry about was curing the darkspawn taint and having babies with Anora. Now, it's up to his bastard sidekick and rejected not-quite-cousin to save the same world all over again, and Nathaniel is finally, truly shaken in his belief that he can do it. He won't do it. He did the best he could and then the Anderfels invaded two countries. On his watch.

He is so stupid.

There was never a Jonas-level hero waiting to pick up the slack. And as much as he wanted to be, he is not that hero either. The heroes are all dead. All that's left are the people they saved. It can't be enough. He has done and redone the math and it will not be enough. Human effort cannot be enough every time. One of those times, it has to fail. And all it takes is one time.

V: TEMPLAR TOWER EXTERIOR

This is not a chore he has done very often.

Nathaniel Howe, once the heir of Amaranthine, is halfway out a fifth-story window, dangling a rug. A small amount of debris falls below--dust, bits of ash, things tracked in on their boots. Then, he starts banging the rug against the outside wall. A much more moderate amount of debris falls. Hopefully passers by know to walk around before they get sprinkled.

Then the entire damn rug falls on the head of whoever is below.

"Sorry!" Nathaniel calls from above, ducking back inside so he can dash down the stairs and reclaim his wayward property. But really, this is on you. You should have been paying better attention.

VI: COURTYARD

One. Bull's eye. Summer has been kind to Nathaniel's rheumatism, so he has been shooting as much as possible these days. Occasionally he swaps the family longbow out for a shortbow, and finds it a peculiar fit after so long with the heavier draw weight.

Two. Slightly off the bull's eye. He's still on borrowed time. It won't be long before it would be irresponsible for him to go into combat. With or without the looming threat of--no, he's not going to let his mind go there.

Three. Bull's eye. He should be practicing more with the shield. That will be in his future very soon.

Four. Two inches off the bull's eye. Now he stops to go collect his arrows. He needs a break.

VII: WILDCARD

Comments

[connorrk800]

VI:

Whenever he can, Connor sits in the yard watching the archers practicing. He never tires of it. The sun warms his skin, he worries a long dry strand of grass idly pulled from between the masonry he leans against. For now, this is all he needs.

Connor has never wanted anything. He couldn't; he was a machine designed to accomplish a task. Machines cannot develop desires, but Connor is no longer a machine. The strangely childlike need on his face as he watches people come and go with their arrows and bows is naked, as Connor has yet to name this sensation he feels when he sees them. He keeps imagining himself drawing the bows, taking aim.

As he gazes on, he happens to make eye contact with one of the veterans as they return from collecting. Connor saw him frequently on the days he came to watch. He smiles tightly, giving a slight respectful nod. "Hello," he says simply. "My name is Connor."

[pinprick]

A slight, respectful nod in return.

"My name is Nathaniel," Nathaniel says with the satisfaction of one polite sort of fellow seeing politeness often has. He has to check himself from glancing at the stranger's palm, something he has decided must not be polite. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

[connorrk800]

"And I you, Nathaniel. I have been watching the practice," he says looking out over the range. "It is... compelling in a way I find difficult to define." After a pause, he looks to Nathaniel. His expression is a peculiar mixture of wonder and hesitancy, as though he's unsure how to proceed. He continues, apologetically: "archery was not a common sight where I came from. I... think I like it."

[justice_is_blond]

In theory, all of the 'rebel' mages were on the same side. They wanted freedom. In practice, there were a few groups and some hated others and sometimes it was hard to tell who believed in working together and who didn't so much before meeting them. Luckily Anders has a strong man willing to watch his back who he can count on completely. And also physically lean on while waiting for his contact to arrive.

"You'd think being fairly punctual was a death sentence the way my people act," he mutters into Nate's chest. "We said be here just after four bells and it's got to be nearly five already."

[pinprick]

A kiss is planted on Anders' hair. "It lets me hold you like this while we wait," Nathaniel says. "I'll count my blessings."

He likes the weight of Anders against him. He has been so busy for so long, it scarcely has felt like theirs has been much of a marriage.

[justice_is_blond]

Suddenly the contact's tardiness doesn't bother Anders anymore. He relaxes for several minutes, only a little attention on their surroundings in case he needs to toss a barrier up, arms around Nate's waist.

"You're right." It's already been a year since they heard that Nate had four more good ones at best. Anders thinks he's made progress on a cure, but it may only be the first couple of steps of a thousand even if it works. "You mean the world to me. And for more than just your body."

He looks up to flash a small smile up at Nate.

I

[overharrowed]

Julius opens the door with care, due to the sign, but once he's clearly not about to facilitate a feline escape, he steps in properly (and closes it behind him). "Do you have a few minutes?"

They've been putting off... perhaps a few conversations, at this point. But Julius can't help but feel a bit responsible for Colin, all the more after the incident with the Carta. He's never been good at setting responsibility aside once taken up, even if they're years past the time they were teacher and student, with much uncharted territory in between.

[keenly]

"Of course." That's Colin. Here to be helpful. To cats. And people, if they happen to have a headache. He sets aside the mortar and pestle and pulls up a chair for Julius before leaning back against a table to listen.

[overharrowed]

"It's nothing serious, I promise." Well, he isn't intending it to be, at least. "I wanted to see how it was going. With the new..." He gestures, as if to include all of this. "And to thank you, for coming to Ferelden," he adds. "I do appreciate that."

II.

[pyrazine]

The baths are a strange thing, because public nudity isn't really looked up on except on Carnival and she's still not entirely used to this. If there is a difference between the men's baths and the women's bath Luana missed that particular signpost, probably because she wasn't paying attention - this isn't where she lives and this probably isn't her bath either, considering she's not a templar, but somehow she found her way up here.

She slinks in, and she hears him and is about to leave, when she sees him.

She does have to say this: thank god for having to walk and run everywhere. Jesus Christ. She comes up behind him and sits - she's still dressed, luckily. "You know," she says, starting with a voice loud enough that he can definitely hear her, "most people don't wear shirts in the bath."

[keenly]

Colin hears the muffled voice and sits up, shaking water from his ears before wringing out his hair.

"I know," he says noncommittally. And it takes him a second to decide that it is less polite not to say more. He is so accustomed to volunteering absolutely nothing that he often forgets he's here to tiptoe back into normal society. "Is it a bad idea?"

[pyrazine]

She looks at him again. "Well, it depends," she says, agreeably enough for the moment. It looks stupid, but she won't say that. "Are you scarred underneath? No dick? That's not really a big deal, you don't have to be ashamed of that." She pulls her shirt up over her head, because hell, she can't be prudish now.

She brought up his dick.

And then she stands and her pants go and she's slipping in the water. Around her neck is a leather rope, and at the end is a wooden charm in the shape of a clenched fist, the thumb jutting out between the middle and forefinger. It has a little magic in it, if he can sense that sort of thing.

II

[exequy]

If Colin doesn't hear footsteps, maybe he'll hear the thunk of discarded boots, or the words, "—should I not?"

And even if he hears neither, he will at the very least see Kostos, leaning over the edge of the bathing pool to try to get into his line of sight.

He and Nikos are only mostly identical. Kostos is leaner, usually more neatly groomed, an inch shorter. The scars on his torso point less toward magical lightning or period brushes with precise violence or whatever else Nikos has going on under there, and more toward the things that happen when a silenced mage in thin robes tries to escape men in armor with swords and maces. And, if it helps, at the moment he's also sporting a black eye a day old.

He hasn't taken off his trousers yet. He'd noticed Colin first, and then his bathing shirt.

[keenly]

Colin heard something, but he doesn’t know it’s Kostos until the man comes in sight. He sits up quickly and shakes the water out of his ears. Once he sees him right side up, he knows it is Kostos, albeit Kostos looking rather the worse for wear.

“What happened?” he asks, concerned.

[exequy]

For a few long seconds the only answer is an expression: eyes narrowed slightly, head turned an inch to the side to achieve an appropriately skeptical slant. Not quite none of your business, that look, so much as transparent contemplation of whether or not it might be. Are they friends now? Should it concern him either way?

That look might have been the only answer at all. But Colin agreed to take the cat.

“I walked into a fist.”

Rather than a door. Get it? He’s hilarious—and deadpan, and still not sure he’s welcome here but taking off his belt just the same.

I.

[esquive]

The sign should reasonably inspire anyone opening the infirmary door to do so cautiously - to lead, maybe, with the toe of those boot to fend off any opportune animal that might be waiting on the other side. Marcoulf does no such thing. Instead, he knocks once then simply presses in without a single ounce of care. In fact he seems to just barely remember to close the door behind him.

In other words, it's a good thing the cat's so comfortable on his cushion.

Though here the wraith thin man pauses, his hand lingering at the door's latch yet as he takes stock of the infirmary's contents, tired looking boys trying to work included. Marcoulf gestures with his spare hand, the wrap of linen around it almost comically thick, but he doesn't stray any further into the space.

"I'm looking for a poultice. Elfroot. Or yarrow."

[keenly]

“Let me see.” Colin isn’t dressed like a mage or an herbalist, wearing his preferred earthy red tunic over normal trousers. He looks more like a merchant than a healer. Robes are a lot of additional fabric, so they are expensive as well as a symbol of the oppression he endured. He is done with all of that. He approaches Marcoulf without particular concern or particular lack of it, merely assessing. But he does not reach out to unwrap the bandage himself, only waits for the patient to do it himself.

[esquive]

Merchant is definitely preferable to a mage ensemble in any case. One might bring to mind traders met on the road selling palm oil from their saddlebags and calling them curatives, but the other-- well. No matter. It's not why he's here.

Neither is unwrapping his hand, come to think of it. Honestly he'd much rather just take his salve and be on his way, but come to think of it maybe the Inquisition has a policy for those sorts of things. Anyone would come in with a rag wrapped around their finger or temple and beg off a little something to put on a pretend cut or scrape. So: fair enough. Marcoulf wrinkles his nose, fights briefly with the tuck of the bandage end, and unravels the cloth.

The skin on the back of the hand shines strangely, small cracks forming across otherwise too-smooth flesh. It's not the worst burn in the world, but it's clearly sat for a few days under wraps and is trending closer toward going strange than healing right.

"The joints are getting stiff," he explains, as if to justify his place here.

III

[justice_is_blond]

"That smells glorious." Of course it does, Colin's done the cooking, but the younger man should hear it too. Anders walks carefully into the kitchen, part of his care being because he has a cat draped over his shoulder with her head tucked in the back of his robes.

"She didn't want to let me leave," he says in amused apology as he takes in what all is available. "Are you busy? Could we sit and eat? If it's ready."

[keenly]

"Aww." Colin pats Purrelden's rear end. "Yes, it's all ready. Help yourself."

Speaking of, he grabs a plate and starts cutting into the omelet.

"I have dried chilies if you want any on your eggs."

[justice_is_blond]

The cat 'mrrs' at the pat but stays in place; she has a point to make. Or something. As for Anders, he grins and grabs a plate after Colin.

"I'd like that. You never did tell me how a Fereldan managed to learn to appreciate spices," he says teasingly. "And it's not all stewed grey stuff. I'm amazed every time. Have I ever told you how awful the food was in Vigil's Keep? Not as awful as Kinloch, granted, but still abysmal."

His update is fully back, his enjoyment of food is fully back, it's good. "And you're liking working in these kitchens?"

VI

[thorndergod]

He sees the archer fairly often down here, though it's the first time Thor's returning to the courtyard since his mother's passing which means his initial intention is to stay to himself and run through drills in the open space.

But then the archer misses. And misses again. Thor exhales and looks over at him.

"That is not usual." The battle against Corypheus is personal now, and he should not ignore an ally potentially in need.

[pinprick]

"Mm?" Nathaniel breaks out of his reverie and aims suspecting eyebrows at Thor. He doesn't know this bloke. But he takes barely a look at this big, hulking man and sees his posture. Sees how serious he is, how solemn.

[thorndergod]

For a few moments he considers the archer. Does he really care enough to meddle? Apparently, he decides with a sigh, he does. The Inquisition he's seen is a mess. There's no reason to let that continue when perhaps he can help.

"I have seen you shooting before. You do not tend to miss that often." Hopefully that clarifies his earlier statement. "I do not know if you would like help, or even how to help if you do. But there was a chance you do, so I thought I would notice the change."

I

[coquettish_trees]

The Alexandrie who comes carefully through the clinic's door and closes it conscientiously behind her, marking her unattended, is a far cry from the one Colin had seen before her departure with the Inquisition's delegation to Tevinter. For one, she looks exhausted, and not just because she's managed to care only enough for the most rudimentary of cosmetics. Her is face a little thinner, her skin a little darker, her hair and dress a little simpler; something she could have done herself (and, in fact, had).

Their mutual tiredness is noted, but not commented on. After all, she surmises it has the same source.

Even considering all this, she still has a small fond smile for him.

"Good morning, mon cher. Are you very busy?"