faderift | OPEN + starters | nothing is what it seems

Entry tags:

OPEN + starters | nothing is what it seems

WHO: Myr & YOU; starter for Simon (and more by request)
WHAT: Divine Election nonsense + an elf/mage doing elf/mage things
WHEN: All through Drakonis
WHERE: The Gallows & Kirkwall
NOTES: hit me up if we've discussed something for this month & you would like a starter for it!

i. extended office hours - Chantry Relations office
With the Divine's election in the offing, there's much for Chantry Relations to do, both officially and not. Above the board there's letters to be sent on Inquisition policy, research to be done on the various candidates' intentions for the organization, requests to answer for their agents as guards or troubleshooters at Chantry functions, good will on all fronts to curry and maintain. That by itself would be enough to keep Myr in the office most working days of the week--

But there was also the matter of Skyhold's unofficial suggestion that Grand Cleric Clorentine ought to be discouraged in her ambitions. After much deliberation (and thought, and prayer), he had agreed to go along with it--and so there is all that much more deniable work to sort through as well, often later in the evenings when he's alone.

So: If anyone's looking for him they would find him in the office from shortly after breakfast to not long before dinner (and sometimes well after it), with or without Cade present; the door's usually open in invitation, a kettle of hot water for tea and a plate of treats on a side table to share with anyone who stops by with a concern or a report.

In the new-minted Inquisition tradition, he's also left a box outside for anyone who'd prefer to bring their comments, complaints, or other communications through writing.

ii. cash me outside - the gallows & kirkwall
Despite the workload, keeping at it seven days a week through the whole month would be a recipe for disaster and cruel to Cade, besides. Myr can afford to set aside a day to tend to body and soul, whether that means spending time in the library with some light reading (Hard in Hightown for the umpteenth time) or mucking around in the garden with the Comtesse on hand to dispose of grubs or dead plants with all a nug's voracity.

Sometimes you might catch him practicing spells in a disused corner of the courtyard, tweaking the Fade in volatile ways that are prone to backfiring (though mercifully without much effect on anyone but him).

On good days he'll make the trip out to Kirkwall and the Chantry memorial garden there, to pray at Andraste's feet or simply sit on a bench and absorb the early spring sunshine.

Threaded | Flat

There are many things Myr's found himself regretfully setting aside to make more time for all the work he's got to do in Chantry Relations--but his regular sparring with Simon isn't among them. When that, and mealtimes, and an exhausted tumble into their bed at the end of a very long day are all the chances he gets most days to be with his lover, he'll cling to every one of them like a drowning man to a lifeline.

(Don't think of it as storing memories up against an uncertain future. Nothing's written yet and nothing will be even after the Divine's installed. Don't think of it--

But do treasure every instant with new appreciation for the gift you've been given.)

Long hours spent sitting behind a desk are a recipe for twitchiness and there's extra energy Myr brings to their encounters for it. He pushes a little harder, for a little longer; takes a few more risks to score a touch, throwing himself into the mock-fights like winning them would solve all the problems facing Thedas. Though however much he dares he does not press for anything outside the rules they've long held between them: No live steel, no magic (but for his barriers), no blows that'd ruin the rest of the evening's plans--and none of a templar's abilities.

Until, one evening, between bouts: "Silence me this time."

He'd meant it seriously for all there was a laugh in his voice, and when Simon had protested he'd pointed out reasonably they might be fielded again soon and who knew if there wouldn't be red templars this time. And besides, he'd enough practice with seeing now to not need his barriers to sense for him, and--

All right, all right, had been the reply, before Myr could exhaust every one of his arguments on the matter. They'd try it the once but if anything went even the least bit wrong that was the end of it for the night and ever. He'd acquiesced to those terms, pushed off from leaning on his staff, and started the next bout with renewed enthusiasm. Then it's only a matter of waiting until Simon feels harried enough to lash out with the Maker's grace...

Which he does without much warning between one exchange and the next, collapsing Myr's barrier like a popped bubble and cutting him off from the Fade.

Philomela's trick with the knife requires close quarters and a templar that thinks his quarry's at bay. Given nearly two years' familiarity between them, Simon knows better than to close while Myr's still got his staff in-hand--which is why Myr artfully drops it as the spellpurge washes over him, his ensuing disorientation not entirely feigned. (It never really gets easier.) He takes a wobbling step in retreat, (heart pounding in his ears; last time, this had been in deadly earnest,) and then Simon's on him.

Not, Maker, going for a grab on a disabled mage like so many did but going for a kill, and Myr has to scramble away from the lunge, feeling intolerably slow without even the option to fade step away. A small mercy: Simon's overextended and Myr sees his opening, miming drawing the dagger he's left on the sidelines and darting in to try for that deathstroke that's worked twice before--

There's been an excess of correspondence resulting from the current political climate, and more than one late night has been spent just catching up on filing and replies. Cade's sense of duty knowing no bounds, he had shooed Myr out the door with the assurance that he'd work a bit late and lock up when he's finished.
It's several hours later now-- unreasonably late-- and he still hasn't traversed the hallway that Myr and Simon share with Nari and himself. Cade hasn't come home, and that's because he's still at work. Or at least, the physical place known as work. He's asleep, with a smear of black over his cheek and forearm from where they've rested on the parchment, of which he makes a further mess every time he moves.

Galadriel finds him in the garden.

It is early, the sun has crested and the layer of fog that comes with proximity to the sea has yet to burn away completely. The spring air is bright and crisp and Galadriel savors it, even though this conversation is one she has...reservations about.

She hesitates as she watches him work, digging in the soil and clearing away debris. A small creature follows in his wake, a nug, snuffling the ground and prancing daintily through the budding flowers and new green grass. She watches a moment longer and then moves forward--it is habit, approaching from behind, moving softly, and it does not occur that she might startle him by doing so.

"Myrobalan," she says, kindly, and it has the lilt of a greeting. She is uncertain if he has ever seen her without her cloak, but today she wears none. Her dress is white and sylph, silk she has woven herself that is as delicate as spring. It is terribly bright, even in this light.

"Good morning."

Edited 2019-03-12 05:42 (UTC)

He often watched people train from the sidelines, quiet and unobtrusive. He'd be loathe to disrupt something so vital, given what Beleth had told him about the Inquisition's defeat at Ghislain, after all.

But Myr's training catches his eye - perhaps it's the use of martial and magical that bares some resemblance to his own techniques which makes it more feasible that he might learn something useful from observing.

When Myr was taking a breather, he finally spoke.

"I have not seen mages use such skills before."

Normally it was a lot of staff twirling and sparkly lights.

In the box in the morning, Myr will find complaints, comments, and a small bundle of freshly cut flowers: the brilliantly purple crocuses that are spring's advance guard. Given that there is a small careful arrangement of them in a little carved wooden vase on Cade's desk as well, it's not too difficult to guess the origin.

Even less difficult when Nari turns the corner and comes walking back down the hallway carrying the second vase that she'd gone to fill with water. She raises a hand in greeting, smile breaking warmly across her face.

"Oop. You beat me back."

Edited (maybe put a subject) 2019-03-13 16:07 (UTC)

Kain is wandering through the garden with a couple of packages in hand. He's done quite well with giving away most of those sweets by now, and is seeking out one more individual to whom he's promised them... Ah, perfect. The sight of the nug wandering about makes even him stop and half-smile. He glances around, seeing Myr, and approaches.

"Ah, Myr... I'd hoped to come across you eventually. I've come bearing gifts, for one or... perhaps even both of you."

Threaded | Flat

iii. it'll take more than we've got [for Simon]

i

ii

ii - training

I

ii garden