I'm not no nice guy I'm just a good guy

[inkindled]

WHO: Athessa & Matthias
WHAT: it's time to fight some orphans!!! to sway voters to Benedetta, some sad-eyed orphans and widows have made their way to Val Royeaux to stand outside the Consensus and look pathetic until everyone decides Benedetta is the best for the job. they must be stopped.
WHEN: mid Cloudreach
WHERE: the mean streets of Val Royeaux
NOTES: a very petty part of the Divine plot.

They don't actually get a griffon. Griffons are for closers, if closers are defined as people who have actually earned the right to a griffon, done some training, bonded, whatever the reason, they don't get a griffon to take them to Val Royeaux.

But they do get to Val Royeaux. It's a city: that's Matthias' assessment. It's a city, and it smells like a city, shit and smoke and cookfires and food and animals and people and flowers and wet straw and sewage and perfume, and there's horses and carts and shopkeeps, and city noises, and everyone shouting and talking and speaking at once, only it's Orlais, isn't it, so they're all speaking stupidly, and--

And then there are the orphans.

"There they are," Matthias says, and points. Because there they are, a whole knot of orphans, standing together all smudgey and sad-eyed. There's about eight in this group, a range of ages and heights but equal in the category of pathetic. The smallest are huddled on the ground together, crouching on the pavement and drawing sad pictures in the dust of the street. The tallest is stood on an upturned bucket, and he's jabbering away about his life, about the horrors of the world, the raw hand he's been dealt. He's loud, and he's chosen a good street corner, where the buildings lean in just so and let his words carry. His voice cracks once, and he snuffles into his shirtsleeve, and Matthias snorts, loudly. They're across the street so no one notices, but still.

A small crowd has started to gather, drawn to the noise and the spectacle. Encouraged by the attention, the orphan on the bucket begins to windmill his arms to demonstrate his point. The storms of life, the bosom of Andraste is the only safe place, and the Reverend Mother, and Matthias, annoyed, is distracted from any potential planning enough to say aloud the remark that comes to mind: "Bosom? Hey, what's Benedetta's bosom like, ratboy?"

Some people at the fringe of the crowd turn dark looks back at them. Matthias makes a rude gesture, first, before he turns his focus back to Athessa, and what's passing for a plan here. "If we just start yelling about our dead parents. Then they'll look over here. Or there's a really good clod of mud on the ground just there, by your foot. So."

You know.

Comments

[sulahnan]

The good news is that all of Athessa's wild flailing somehow helped her land on the piled up rope on the deck of the boat. The bad news is that rope isn't actually as soft as you might think. Also, rope burns are a thing. Ow. Athessa really wishes she'd gotten her shirt back before the jump.

"Matt? Matty?" Her voice is strained because for the second time in so many minutes, she's had the wind knocked out of her. Craning her neck, she sees him a few feet to her left, not tangled in rope like herself. "Oh good, you're not dead." They can officially call their mission a success, so long as the boat takes them away from the skirmish. "I hope the captain doesn't mind stowaways."

[inkindled]

Did she just nickname him? Aw, damn. Matthias shakes his head, trying to clear it so he can fully consider the implications there. Damn. A good sort of damn.

"Not dead," he confirms, as his brain begins to unscramble and the power of speech returns to him. He puts his hands flat on the deck of the ship and pushes himself up to his hands and knees so that he can crawl toward the coil of rope where Athessa has landed. "And neither are you so-- so well done us. I s'ppose."

As he shoots a look back from where they'd fallen, he's got to grin. The bridge is rapidly moving away from them as the boat goes along the river. Already the din of the riot is behind them. The quiet shush of the boat's prow moving through the river takes over, and the more pleasant noises of city and life from the windows and docks that overlook the water fill in between.

"Any captain who tries to throw us off--I reckon we can take him between us. Yeah?" He grabs for some of the rope that she's tangled in, hauling it aside to start freeing her. The coils lay heavy and damp, so it takes considerably more effort than one might think.

[sulahnan]

"No doubt," she agrees, also shoving at various lengths of heavy sodden rope to disentangle herself from the coil. It takes a bit of hefting and heaving and shoving and pulling before she's finally got her limbs back and is more or less on top of the rope instead of the other way around. Her cheeks puff out with a breath and she gives herself a once-over, making sure that all the scrapes and soon-to-be bruises are just that--minor flesh wounds, nothing major. Satisfied, she then holds up various combinations of fingers to check that she's seeing the right number, covers one eye with her palm, looks around, repeats with the other eye and the other palm, and nods.

"Yeah we can take him. Thought I might've had more of a concussion than I do there for a minute, but it's fine. How're your noses?"

[inkindled]

Matthias watches the whole show, somewhat mystified. He starts when he realizes she's asked him a question, and brings his hand up to touch, gentle, against his nose--and then with a bit more force, and then a bit more, which-- actually ends up being too much; he winces a little.

Still.

"S' all right," he says, manfully, methodically rearranging his features into something less pained. "Like I've had worse, y'know, so I reckon I'll be all right."

He keeps that up for a second before he lets his shoulders slump, and a sheepish grin breaks over his face.

"I want a bloody drink, though. Hey--we did brilliantly, yeah?"

[sulahnan]

"Fuck yeah we did!" Athessa punches the air, scrambling to sit on her knees.

"I mean I dunno if we accomplished what we set out to do but we threw some insults, some dirt, some punches, some sick kicks, I lost my shirt, got hit with a rock, you got hit in the face a LOT--"

Despite the downward turn of the words, her tone stays--for lack of a better word--pumped up. This was the best way to spend a day, even if they'll be too sore to move for a few days after.

"--and now we're on a boat going away from all the dumb jerks back there getting arrested! We've earned more than just a drink! We should drink the whole bar!"

[inkindled]

"I didn't get hit in the face that much--I mean, I did, but it wasn't that bad, or anything, right--"

Her attitude is infectious, so despite his protest, Matthias' grin is getting wider. He looks back the way that they came. The bridge that they'd jumped from his quite far off at this point, fading into the background, and they're being borne along to safety. To drink. They are, more or less, a matched pair of successes, and there's not many that can say that.

"We're definitely drinking a whole bar. And I say we don't wait to get back to Kirkwall to do it, either! We're--"

Rumbled, is what they are. A shadow falls across them as one of the boathands looms over the pile of rope, having finally realized that he's been boarded. He says a long string of Orlesian words to them, first--and then, thickly accented, "Stowaways?"

Matthias shoots Athessa the barest look before, both buoyed and infected by her cheer, he answers, "Victors."

The boathand's weathered face creases in confusion. He doesn't seem inclined to chuck them in the river, so at least there's that.