faderift | ( OPEN + CLOSED )

[ The grand plan was to explore the surface. Just the Surface, all-encompasing, because she didn't really have a concept of how to break it into more achievable bits or any kind of specific goal in mind. The thing is that the surface is actually very big, and overly complicated, and when she falls in with the Inquisition and they put her up in hand-me-down shared quarters and she begins spending most of her time surrounded by stone walls, it's unspeakably comforting. Kind of pathetic, honestly, but still. Comforting.

Kenna quickly goes from being overly ambitious to being stunted by her indecision, and so her life turns into a very closed loop. She spends a lot of her time in the shared areas of the Gallows: frowning intensely at books in the library, thoroughly enjoying bland food in the mess hall, and sometimes just sprawled across a stone bench outside, staring up at the sky for hours on end.

The bulk of her time is spent at the smithy, sweating over a fire and hammering at metal, and occasionally at one of the training areas to test out something new. If she catches you looking remotely competent with a weapon, she might hand you an oddly weighted ax or sword with a quick, ]

Here— just a few swings, if it's not too much trouble.

[ Regardless of what she's doing, she's probably covered in soot and oil. Unless, of course, you run into her at the communal baths, though even then it depends on whether she's on her way in or out — maybe you catch her right when she's stepping in, contaminating the baths with what appears to be the contents of a small fireplace. She's a little cagey about sharing, and she'll try to awkwardly avoid it or find less occuppied, slightly dimmer corners. If you're mostly by yourself, she'll probably pad over, barefoot in a towel. It's not ideal, but one person's better than five. ]

Do you mind? I won't bother you, I swear.

Anything good up there?

[ Lux drops to the far end of the bench, tucks her feet under to nudge the far back grass. If two moons are still strange (and more stars than any city ought to have) — well, daylight's still pretty ordinary. Clouds. Ravens. Pigeons, sometimes. Patrols along the rooftops, grasping vines in the corners of wall. Plenty of good places to write your name, if you're quick, and have more flexible wrists than she can claim.

Someone sleeping in the courtyard is a bit more interesting. Here on the ground, and not sleeping at all, really. Eyes up and open as any. What's she looking at?

(Lux, for her part, is looking at Kenna.) ]

There's a runner here swears he saw a parrot once.

[ Hello, stranger. ]

What?

[ She doesn't startle dramatically, but she does startle a little, attention jumping to the far end of the bench as she tries to get a glimpse of her new friend. It's awkward, because she doesn't fully sit up. Just lifts her head, holds it for a few uncomfortable seconds, and then simultaneously decides this young woman isn't a threat or a superior worth sitting up for.

Her head drops back a few seconds later, gaze turning back upwards. ]

I mean, no. No parrots. [ Would she know a parrot if she saw one????? ] I'm just looking at the sky. It's very... you know. Big.

[ Matter-of-factly, with a hint of admiration. ]

Do you think it's bigger than the ground?

[ There's an answer to that, a real one, but that's not the reason to ask it. Probably the answer wouldn't even be the same — ]

There's more of it the higher up you go, [ Well. Sort of. ] So it's where I'd lay my money.

[ She makes a face as if to imply that's an odd question. It isn't, really. She just hadn't thought of it herself, and now that she is, she wonders if it's an affront to the Stone to be comparing sizes like this. ]

I can see how you'd think there might be more sky, overall, but I can't see as how you'd get high enough to prove it. Flying's not as easy as digging.

[ She's only sort of serious, though her tone's thoughtful enough to imply otherwise. ]

I bet,

[ Drawn out, as though she hasn't been thinking of the proposal since she started the sentence. ]

A griffon would disagree. If we could get close enough to check.

[ Clarke already had her knees curled toward her chest in the water, in a way that's casual rather than timid but still reasonably effective, so there's not much added shrinking or modesty at the sound of approaching footsteps. She doesn't look up until there's a voice to go with them—and not as far up as she expected. She'd probably be more used to dwarves, by now, if there were more of them in the fortress. But there aren't, and she's only recently started leaving the island, so there's still a beat of surprise. ]

No, it's fine.

[ There's plenty of room, but she uncurls one leg and uses it to scoot over a couple of inches anyway, for the gesture's sake. ]

What happened to you?

[ Like, did she roll in a pile of ashes, or. ]

Sorry?

[ She pauses as she's slipping off her towel and stepping into the water, like she's misheard. It only takes her a second to catch up. Kenna flashes a chagrined smile, but she doesn't seem to think anything of lowering herself into the water, filthy or no; that's what the bath's for, right? ]

A forge and a bunch of coal, is what. I work at the smithy.

[ Her towel's left in an untidy pile near head, and as soon as she's sitting she seems intent on dunking her head — pausing just before she's up to her nose, rising a bit so can speak without swallowing water. ]

I can go somewhere else— [ The offer seems earnest. Also too late, considering the small clouds of ash already spinning beneath the surface of the water. ]

( Welcome to the smithy that she has been working in for some months. Magni is also hammering, and looms around the smithy at her considerable height and not speaking. It's not personal; it's just that she isn't much inclined to speak. And also she was recently dumped, so she's even less inclined to speaking.

Her work is largely on blades and other weapons, and she works relentlessly in the heat. Eventually, though, she pauses and silently offers the new smith a waterskin, gently nudging her arm with it. )

[ He hasn't been in the Gallows long, and it takes him longer than it probably should to find the right tower and the right room. When he does, he's careful to be quiet in the hallway and waits a moment outside the door, listening. It's dead quiet inside, or close enough to it.

Taehel raises one hand to knock on the door, quick and not obnoxiously loud, waiting just a second before adding a formal follow-up. People seem as likely to ignore the interruption as not without one. ]

It's the courier.

Come in.

[It's not a warm welcome, but anyone with sense wouldn't be expecting one. Anyway, the reason for his distraction is clear enough once the door is opened. The man at the table near the narrow room's window is still scratching a few lines down onto the page under his hand. A waiting stack of documents on the desk's corner suggests he's been at it a while, and the desk itself looks to be the only piece of furniture in the room that sees any regular use. The bed is made so carefully that its sheets must be stale.

Flint gives the boy in the doorway little more than a glance. Scritch, scritch, says pen against parchment.]

Can you be trusted to carry a sum of money?

[ The accent's clear within the first five words. Taehel has the sense to wait until the man's focus is back on his letters to give him a cool look, lingering and critical; then he gives rest of the room a cursory glance. It's empty and boring, and he wonders if the man's new or just not settling in — it isn't like everyone seems to, here.

He stops a few feet off for the sake of privacy ("""privacy"""), folding his hands behind his back to wait out the intense scrawling. His brow pinches slightly at the question, incredulous and a little judgmental, as if it's a dumb thing to ask.

Because it is. Who would say 'no'?? The expression doesn't make it as far as his voice, which is entirely bland and debatably respectful. ]

Of course, messere.

[With a last mark, the pen is traded for a block of blotting paper. It's stamped over the contents of the note as his spare hand already reaching for a stick of (regrettably cheap) sealing wax.]

And Kirkwall. How well do you know it?

[Here he does actually look up - fixing Taehel there with a measuring look. Enough of the Gallows population are transplants to the city at the Inquisition's behest that there's little harm in asking that either. But unlike the question of money - it is a useless one -, he actually cares about the answer enough to mind its direction and delivery.]

( OPEN + CLOSED )

OPEN starters for kenna, gallows.

outside

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baths!

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smithy

CLOSED for flint.

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glad i have 10 icons and they are all irrelevant to my tags

I have 100 and like. same tho??