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

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.

[keenly]

Colin knows he shouldn’t snicker, but it turns out involuntary laughter isn’t up to him. His hand goes up to his mouth to muffle it. There’s something darkly delightful about making light of such a wretched, though common, subject, especially after going through it himself. He got into fights as an apprentice.

“Well, hot water should help.” He dutifully looks away because public bathing isn’t an opportunity to gather blackmail material about your instructor’s package. Colin suspects there is none to be found, anyway.

[exequy]

Damn right.

But however little shame Kostos has, he doesn’t judge anyone else's. He was a shy kid. He only clawed his way out of his shell because it felt like the only way to not wind up dashed against the floor. And he doesn’t say anything else to Colin until he’s slid down into the water, first all way under, then sitting with only his shoulders free while he blinks water out of his eyes.

"How," he says—

He's not thinking about Gareth, or his stupid brother, or the pile of work in the Northern Powers office that might as well be a thousand pages of you could have done more, the same way not thinking about pain is supposed to make it easier, not thinking about how heavy a load is, not thinking how much further up a mountainside is left to walk. It means singing stupid songs or playing stupid games, or in Kostos' case, asking questions he wouldn't usually ask, like:

"How are you?"

[keenly]

Colin's eyes, back on Kostos now, widen noticeably. So this is what Kostos looks like when he's sad. And maybe what he needs is permission to feel what he feels. Colin never needed that permission, in so many ways. He has always felt, and never been punished for it. Perhaps it was because his feelings show so little on his face. People did not know he felt wrongly. The instant he began getting into fights, he was warned. After that, he put his feelings into the kitchen, into cooking and baking and other things people could enjoy. Kostos might not have that. Kostos' feelings might turn to destroy himself, in the absence of other constructive expressions.

"Afraid," he admits quietly. And it is true. He thinks, or imagines, that he feels much like Kostos feels. "Not just for Gareth. I'm afraid for myself. I'm afraid my staying here made things worse. If I'd gone, I might have done something that changed his fate. I'm afraid it's my fault he's gone. And I'm sad. I don't want him to be lost. And horribly, I just...want to know. I want to skip to the end of this book. I want them to announce what's going to be done to help the captives, so I can go volunteer. I want something to happen."

[exequy]

That's so many feelings.

And all of them laid right out there, like crudités.

But Kostos did ask, which is the reason he doesn't hoist himself back out of the water and his eyebrows go up (mostly) instead of down.

"I would ask how you do not explode," he says, "but I think that should count."

[keenly]

But I want to be your friiiiend, whines Colin’s inner voice. He looks away and deflates a little—he’s not hurt, just a man who has failed an attempt at talking to a person.

“I do,” he says lightly. A pause. He looks back at Kostos with a wry expression. “Why do you think I cook so much?”

[exequy]

Kostos isn’t unaware of the deflation. He isn’t unaware of people in general. Whether that makes it better or just that much worse when he elbows his way through people’s feelings is debatable, though one side of the debate definitely has the advantage going in. So Colin deflates, and he thinks good, albeit half-heartedly at best, and then they’re on less alarmingly open ground.

“Gluttony,” he proposes.

[keenly]

And that’s when Colin decides to shut up. He’s taken it too far too fast. If Kostos wants to talk again, Colin will let him start it. Meanwhile, he is clean and about to turn pruny. He stands up, fabric clinging to his legs as he climbs out of the bath. He grabs the towel and begins to dry off. When dry, he maneuvers into his dry clothes in the same way as he undressed—under his shirt, without exposing skin.

He’s just...starting to feel done with Averesches.

[exequy]

Kostos twists his head to watch him for as long as it takes to realize he's getting out and not only fetching something from the edge, then looks back ahead, into the expanse of more distant and empty water he could have slid into if he didn't want to talk to anyone.

But it isn't as if he can be annoyed that they aren't going to do the banter thing, considering (1) his banter is not very nice, (2) it's delivered as flatly as if he meant it, and (3) he isn't opening his mouth right now to apologize for teasing. Instead he's sinking down under the water again and staying there, to soak his face and bruised eye and to muffle everything for however long he can hold his breath, which might also conveniently be enough time for Colin to leave.

[keenly]

Colin doesn’t leave. He thought he would, but he sees Kostos watch him as he gets out. Colin always frets over his own social handicaps, but forgets he is not the only one who has them. And the truth is that he wasn’t being that good of a friend by trying to manipulate Kostos into expressing things. Kostos hates expressing things. It was not a good plan. No, Colin wasn’t giving the man permission to vent; he was looking for it. Not to mention wanting to prove something to Compassion, who may or may not be watching and certainly hasn’t committed to their deal.

Kostos comes back up. Colin waits for him to get the water out of his eyes and ears before padding over, sitting at the edge of the bath, and putting still-bare feet into the water.

“I completed all the quests,” he says quietly. Given that he doesn’t go into further detail, as well as his faint tone of melancholy, it’s a safe assumption that nothing has come of completing all of Compassion’s assignments.

[exequy]

He comes back up, and the world is still there, which was inevitable, and so is Colin, which was not. Kostos stays silent and warily focused ahead, anticipating some attempt at managing him, and—

And that might be what this is, in its own way, but at least it’s a change of subject. He draws his knees up beneath the water to rest his elbows on, arms still dangling ahead into the pool, and leans and twists his head back to look at Colin.

“And?”

It is, at least, not a why should I care sort of and.