[OPEN] there is a light that i leave on

[heirring]

WHO: Wysteria, Marcoulf, Flint and OPEN
WHAT: Open post/catch-all/buries myself in top levels
WHEN: Harvestmere
WHERE: Kirkwall and misc
NOTES: Prose or brackets are a-okay. Feel free to hit me up on DM or discord if you want something specific that isn't here. Just posting a wildcard and winging it is awesome too.

Comments

[assistente]

[Salvio, who would have done anything to save a packet of papers at risk to his own life, the lives of others, and especially the life of cup and drink, says, readily,]

Fine.

[It is, after all, mostly fine. The front of his robes are wet, yes, and will require laundering, and there is drink dumped over his bowl of thick gluey stew, but he does not mix work with food, so there were no important papers to be doused, or--

Wait. He realizes the words that he left out, that will soften a curt response to something more reassuring.]

It is fine, that is. Er--

[Shit. It's the talky one.]

It is. Truly. Your-- personal papers, are unharmed? [With slight emphasis on the personal. Please do not be at-risk Inquisition paperwork.]

[heirring]

[She's already reaching for one of the baskets of bread--] Oh, pardon me. I'm just going to borrow this-- [and whipping outs the length of plain cloth wrapping the small loaves out and leans all the way across the table to hopefully offer it out to him. Hardly having heard him past 'Fine':]

Oh please, you really must take this to dry with. [The upended cup has somehow righted itself on the table. Maybe she did it with her other hand.] I really am just terribly mortified, sir. Here, take my bowl as well. I can get a new one--

[The papers slip now from under her arm, pouring over moisture flecked tabletop. They're perhaps less personal than is ideal.]

[assistente]

No, that is--perfectly--

[All right, because it is, more or less, all right, and is Salvio held grudges for every cup that has ever been upended in his direction, he would die of stress, but he might actually die of stress now as he goes to take the cloth from her and watches, in horror, the papers slipping on to the table--]

No! No--

[The increase in stress puts a strain on his words, and Salvio stands up, suddenly, knocks his knees into the bottom of the table and crashes back down again onto the bench. Pain spikes in him, nothing at all compared to the pain in his heart as he watches the papers begin to darken with absorption.]

The papers, the papers, the-- they're-- save them--

[heirring]

[A truly strangled noise now escapes her. She quite literally throws the cloth at him in her haste to dive after the papers with a flurry of apologies (to him, to her neighbors, to the parchment currently absorbing every fleck of moisture on the table top)--]

Oh-- Spirits-- Are you alright? Oh, hold these for me won't you? Thank you. [She's hastily stacking the very damp rescued papers together and stuffing them desperately into the hands of the poor flabbergast person to her right where they might better turn into a synonymous pulp. As she all but diving across the table to collect the documents which had scatter farthest:]

I will fix this. I promise they're not so very important. They won't be missed at all and I'm very certain I might repair them. It's all perfectly fine.