the holy dove was moving too

[dirth]

WHO: Solas and you
WHAT: Open post
WHEN: Throughout the entire month
WHERE: All around Kirkwall
NOTES: N/A

LIBRARY.

Solas spends much of his time in the library as he always does. There are books open in front of him. They're written in Common, in Elven, one or two with scraps of Qunlat littered around the margins (this is Kirkwall, after all). He is devouring what he can, still studying and investigating everything that he can, making notes and putting pieces of parchment to one side, putting things to one side, closing books but not getting up to put them away.

What proves clear, eventually, is just how much time Solas is actually spending in his studies. For a man that enjoys sleeping as much as he does he is not getting much of it - and he has no other symptoms, so this is clearly a personal endeavour rather than anything from his own suffering. The piles of books get larger, higher, and he can often be found scowling at them, as if they should have more answers than they do, as if the hours he had spent uncovering the history of Kirkwall had been entirely pointless.

He sits in a corner keeping to himself, waiting, frowning, reading and reading. He makes himself comfortable eventually, pouring himself a cup of something to drink - not tea - before he gives himself a moment to shut his eyes and relax.

KIRKWALL.

When not in the library, Solas can be found wandering Kirkwall, investigating things he might have otherwise missed. He doesn't linger much in taverns or bars - they're hardly the kind of place he'd waste his time, even if it means he might be able to discover more of what the 'common' people might be interested in - but he does travel to Darktown at times, does look into the depths of what it is like for the elves here, offering what he can to aid them as little as it might be. He is a familiar face to some of them: they are absent from the Dalish and so the two of them get along far better than he might with anyone of the clans.

Eventually, he makes his way back to the Inquisition proper and spends a little time wandering around the gardens, arms crossed behind his back and his attention focussed on the herbs, on the plants, on the things that interest him. He does not seem to mind being interrupted, if anyone has the desire, and he seems in a pleasant enough mood before he makes himself comfortable on a bench, drawing a book from somewhere and beginning to read, flicking the pages absently.

WILDCARD.

( Find him in the Gallows, near his room, hanging near Galadriel and anywhere else your heart desires! )

Comments

kirkwall/gardens.

[exequy]

Kostos prefers not to be outdoors at all, if he can help it, and especially not during winter. The temperatures aren't intolerable yet, especially with the walls around the Inquisition's gardens blocking the full bite of the wind and the mages who are more into plantlife doing whatever mages who are into plantlife do to keep the gardens alive and temperate, and it's a nice day on top of that, but he's irritated anyway, stepping heavier-footed in his boots than he needs to be and pulling his hands into his sleeves when he isn't using them.

That's only rarely. He isn't outdoors for fun; he's outdoors because he's more finicky about his face than the weather, and the healers are out of the salve he's been slapping on his jaw at night to try to minimize scarring, and that means he's making his own. Or trying. Maybe. It's possible he'll instead take handfuls of ingredients to Anders or Isaac or his strange, haughty little cousin and ask for help, if he can stomach it.

In the meantime he's pinching leaves off of the winter elfroot—not too many—and playing his usual silent games (that no one else will ever know about as long as he lives) with a wisp that's bobbing around his shoulders, but half-heartedly and slowly, because he's cold and mad about it.

It's too slow, and too half-hearted, and when Solas sits down to read, the wisp decides, for whatever spirity reason, that he looks like more fun. It's already reached him when Kostos turns around to glare at it, then at the elf, like maybe it's his fault.

"Leave him alone," he says—to the wisp, not Solas, and it stops where it is, hovering a few feet away from him and pitching its quiet whirring hum lower in dismay.

[dirth]

The cold does not seem to bother Solas as much as it might other people. He's not dressed any better for it and he hasn't gone out of his way to cover his feet, as traditional an elf as anyone might imagine even in the midst of the Inquisition. It seems as though he ought to be shivering from the chill in the air, but he doesn't - either through a marvellous level of self control or because he is too stubborn to do anything else.

He barely notes Kostos wandering around the garden, far too wrapped up in his own reading. The book isn't something of particular importance, at least - some old retelling of history relating to Tevinter and the slave trade, all told from a very Tevene point of view which is disagrees with in both knowledge and principle - but he does notice the wisp.

It makes him lift his head.

"Ah." He's about to reach up and touch the small thing, as if that might make it easier to understand, when he hears the voice and finally seems to register that Kostos is actually there. His hand lowers slightly, as if he's something of a scolded child, before he presses his finger between the pages of his book and settles down, tilting his head.

"I do not mind." The glare seems to do absolutely nothing for the just-there smile on Solas' face.