OPEN |

[krem]

WHO: Krem and YOU
WHAT: Getting used to Kirkwall
WHEN: Present
WHERE: Dive bar, Gallows
NOTES: Other starters available on request, PM/PP (relatable)!

i. Some Tavern Somewhere

Krem didn't start the brawl, he swears—when a full mug of ale goes flying past his head, though, he joins in.

There isn't an overwhelming number of people keen on throwing hands with the guy in a full set of armor, but he still trades a few punches here and there. When he gets the attention of someone exactly drunk enough to lack the sense to lay down after getting hit more than once, he casts about and promptly zeroes in on one of the few barstools untouched by the chaos. He starts reaching for it even while asking whoever is standing closest: "Can I borrow this?"

Without waiting for an answer, he swings it like a bat right into the chest of the man charging towards them, sending him toppling over a table and into a messy pile of limbs on the floor. Krem has the gall to look surprised that the poor, innocent barstool survived its brief stint as a weapon, but he recovers enough to flash his most charming smile as he hands it back. "Thanks. Buy you a drink?"

ii. Indistinctly, the Gallows

On one of the rare occasions that Krem can be spotted outside of his armor, he is perched in one of the Gallows' common areas, stitching a patchwork of spare fabric pieces up into a stuffed nug. He's got on a pair of well worn trousers and a loose tunic with no sleeves on it so he can show off his guns for once. Look, he works hard, let him have this.

At anyone wandering close enough who doesn't look impossibly busy, he brandishes two scraps of cloth: one green, one brown. "This one or this one? For the wings."

Very important, please assist.

iii. On a Good Day for a Morning

Krem spends a considerable amount of time in the training yard, doing what looks like soldier's drills. He tends to be there right at the crack of dawn, because he is one of those crazy people who is actually productive in the morning, with a practice sword and shield and a slightly winded grin for anyone who looks ready to join.

Comments

i

[arlathvhen]

Beleth has been ignoring the bar fight with the stubborn calm of someone who is used to delicately avoiding the chaos of flying limbs and other assorted weaponry. It would look bad if she got herself involved, and she's not particularly keen on the idea of trying to sneak past the offices of the other division leaders with a black eye.

But she can certainly watch, and that's exactly what she does, sipping from her tankard of dubious alcohol and ducking whatever flies her way. Then, someone asks to borrow the stool near her, and she opens her mouth to reply, only to close it when the barstool is commandeered anyway. Electing to let it go, Beleth instead simply takes a final, long drink of her tankard, watching the bar stool briefly enjoy the thrilling life of a battering ram.

When the stool is returned to her in more or less working condition, she raises a single eyebrow as she accepts it, an amused smile dancing across her lips.

"I think you owe a drink to the stool, not me, but I certainly won't turn one down." A moment passes as she examines the pile of irate and drunk bodies Krem has contributed to, sprawled out on the bar floor. "I didn’t realize bar fighting could be an expertise."

[krem]

Krem laughs, leaning over the bar where the bartender is waiting out the chaos behind cover with the world's grumpiest look on his face. "Two of whatever she's having," he orders pleasantly, handing over enough coin to cover about four times what it is actually worth to forestall any refusal that might have been coming otherwise.

That gets a pair of mugs in his hands quick enough, even as the rest of the bar fight sputters out a touch anticlimactically around them. Handing Beleth one of the tankards, he spends a second still fully amused by the mental image of Bull using his sneakily silver tongue to finesse even more of the Chargers' already hefty fee out of the Inquisition just so they can bum around in bars, brawling.

"More of a passion than a career, unfortunately. Think I might have missed my calling." Krem takes a sip of the ale to punctuate his joke, but thoroughly ruins the delivery by making a face. "Oh, that's foul. You're a brave one." He doesn't actually look mad about it though, considering that he goes back for another mouthful immediately after.

[arlathvhen]

"Never too late to follow your dreams." Beleth replies cheerfully, while watching the exchange of money take place. She accepts the tankard offered, watching with an amused look at the visual disapproval on his face when he tries it--not that she can really blame him.

"I believe it's the best they have to offer," Which is probably a lie, but who can really tell, when it's all probably been scrapped off the floor and put back into a barrel at the end of the day? "But it's what's available, and I can't spend every night stuck up in a tower." And getting drinks in Hightown as a Dalish can be tricky, but that's not a path worth going down.

"But--Thank you for the drink." She starts to hold out a hand, pauses in thought, then quickly wipes the hand on her pants, before offering it again. No telling what kinds of grime is on anything in this place. "Beleth Ashara."

[krem]

Oh! That's a name he's actually aware of. Krem does her the courtesy of also wiping his own palms off so as not to infect her with whatever lurks around the surfaces or indeed faces of this bar and its patrons, before reaching up and giving her hand a firm shake. "Cremisius Aclassi," he returns. "I'm with Bull's Chargers Mercenary company." He leans back, elbows on the counter, mug full of terrible ale in one hand, and considers her openly. "You're scoutmaster, right?"

He reads literally every Inquisition report that they release to him, as a part of the contracts they took up way back in Haven, so that he can figure out where the Chargers can be sent to help the organization out best. Through those, and since showing up about a week ago, he is familiar enough with the names if not actually the faces of its arm here in Kirkwall.

[arlathvhen]

Beleth can't help but look quite pleased that her name is already known to him—It had not been long ago that she was beneath the notice of most of the Inquisition. Perhaps, at best, known for being one of the few Dalish wandering around. To be acknowledged through her own position, that she had earned herself, was incredibly gratifying.

But it would probably be a bit egotistical to say that.

Instead, she smiles, returning the shake, then gives a quick nod. "Yes, that's me. I've heard of the Bull's Chargers before—nothing but good things, I assure you. Though none mentioned your prestigious bar fighting skills, I'll have to note that one down." That's a joke, probably.

"I'm glad that you've been sent here. Besides the bar fighting. Ever since we lost that last major battle, things have been..." She trails off as she searches for an appropriate word. But there are few that can truly capture the atmosphere currently in the Gallows, so she settles for waving her hand vaguely and making a face. "In any case, more help is always appreciated."

[krem]

Krem chuckles, returning to his drink. He wonders if he'll get an addendum to whatever file they've got on him for bar-fighting competence. Nothing would delight him more.

But he sobers some, then. Skyhold hadn't been a cheery place either afterwards, but it is different when it's an isolated mountaintop populated only by other Inquisition members and allies, rather than an outpost smack in the middle of one of the Marches' city-sates. Full of... the kind of people that Kirkwall is filled with—no offense, Kirkwall (slight offense, Kirkwall.)

"By all means," he makes at least an effort to sound more professional than he had a minute before he'd realized that he was talking to the head scout, "if you have anything specific you could use the Chargers' help for, let me know. I look through all the reports, but I'm sure you've got the better idea of what is needed, where."