[OPEN] deal me in

[unshut]

WHO: Fitcher + you and also you
WHAT: A weekly card game
WHEN: At some point every week, without fail
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: Catch-all mingle space; threadjacking encouraged and time is an illusion. Threads are not required to have anything to do with cards or even include Fitcher; may be before/after the game etc. No rules, just right; get your banter and gossip on.

There are really only two rules to play at Fitcher's table: you mustn't be a bad sport, and come prepared with conversation.

In theory, an invitation and the lady in questions presence are also required but both those guidelines have been broken: anyone who shows up in the the dining hall on the right evening who displays any interest in the game being played at one of the tables earns themselves an invite; and at least once Fitcher has appeared, slung back a single glass of wine, then announced, "I've work elsewhere tonight, but I expect a full account of all that occurs," before disappearing into the night.

It's sometimes loud and it's sometimes quiet. There are nights where more drinking is done and others with only a single shared bottle. Sometimes there are enough players to warrant splitting the game and sometimes it's just Fitcher, lying out a spread for Solitary as she smokes from a pipe and occupies herself with a little evening bookkeeping.

It's pleasant. It's a good distraction. One should never think too hard about these things.

Comments

a

[overharrowed]

"Madame de Cedoux got a pair of socks from me, once," he says, lightly, at the unusual wager. "I thought it was a joke and she'd eventually give them back, but she insists they're quite warm."

A light smile, which suggests absolutely nothing about his hand. He's not a regular in the sense of coming to the game every week, but this isn't his first time. He usually wins slightly more than he doesn't, but only very slightly; whether that speaks to average skill or above-average diplomacy is anyone's guess.

"Though I admit, currency does make gambling a bit more convenient. Not trying to value various items of collateral on the fly makes Wicked Grace go much quicker than I grew up playing it."

[unshut]

"But rather less personal, don't you think? I expect your socks say more about you than the coins from your pocket do, Enchanter. Madame de Cedoux must surely treasure them."

She smiles in return, fetching up a fresh card and ridding herself of another. With a look about the table, she adds, "Mind you all, I quite like that pin. I would like to have it back."

[overharrowed]

"Well, if you didn't care about it at all, it would hardly be a sporting wager, would it? Though I daresay the socks are more valuable as a reminder of a victory than anything." Not that he begrudges it, under the circumstances; he'd been fairly beaten on grounds of gullibility.

He lets another round of drawing (and a chance for anyone else to speak) pass before he adds: "Does it have sentimental value, the pin? Not that its aesthetic qualities aren't evident, of course."

[unshut]

With a tip of the head, reminiscent of a sharp eared terrier, she glances up over the top of her cards. There's something bright and cheerful about the lines of her face, a quirking shift toward some sentiment like How charming that you'd ask.

"In the sense that I've had it for rather a long time. You must have thing like that - which have accrued sentiment just by the merit of being surprisingly persistent about not being misplaced."

[overharrowed]

"Perhaps one or two." Fewer than he likely would have had his life gone a different way, but that's hardly light conversation for a card game. (He knows relatively little about Fitcher, but he's certainly not missed her sharpness. He wonders about her motivation for setting up the weekly game; he knows what his would be, if he'd done it.)

Julius meets the wager with the more conventional coins, at least for now. "I did leave a book back at Skyhold that I've been annoyed about losing for months. I sent a raven, but apparently someone just shelved it somewhere in the library and now it's been lost to the stacks."

[unshut]

The cards in her hand and the pot is given some serious contemplation. She only has so many hair pins at her disposal, after all.

"Oh?" This, without looking up from her hand. "And which book would that be?"

Eventually, Fitcher deigns to remove a small brass ring from her smallest finger. It must be cheap; there's a dark line left behind on the skin where the metal sat.

[overharrowed]

With mild regret: "A volume I wanted more for my marginalia than for the contents, unfortunately. The title itself is common enough, but I'd been marking that copy idly for years." A small, inward smile. "Now the Inquisition is stuck with my adolescent epiphanies, I suppose, even if it is no longer stuck with me."

It's certainly one way to look at it. He consider the pot, and draws another card.

[unshut]

She laughs. It's a low, rich sound even in the wide mostly empty hall, which has a habit of washing out the depth of most thing. That long hand with its little black mark is set to her chest just below her neck - a motion of some endearment or sympathy. "Oh, that is a shame. The things I committed to paper as a girl--"

There are women who, after that first barking outburst, might make an effort to laugh behind their hand or the fan of their cards. Fitcher evidently isn't that breed: she is all bare delight. "If it's any comfort, Enchanter, I'm sure some Inquistion scholar will find it entertaining when they most need it. Which is more than anyone can say about an old hair pin."

[overharrowed]

Her delight is mildly contagious, and it coaxes a smile from him. It's less frank than her outburst, maybe, but warm enough. "We can only hope. If there's one thing I'm concerned about the Inquisition losing in Riftwatch's wake, it's a sense of humor." He adds, glancing up at her, "Did you have occasion to go to Skyhold? It's beautiful but a bit severe. It would be very easy to take oneself too seriously there."

Unlike Kirkwall? He thinks it's a fair point.

[unshut]

"I've never been, no - though I hear it's rather grand now that pieces of it have largely stopped falling off. But really, can you imagine? Cooped up in the mountains with all that fresh air with nothing but the wilds of the natural world in every direction? The Inquisition really must be Andraste's child or they'd surely have all gone out of their minds with boredom by now.

"And you?" she asks, drawing and tucking a new card into her hand as the turn passes to her. A dagger is discarded with a flick of the fingers. "Were you there long before coming to Kirkwall?"

[overharrowed]

He considers and discards twice in order to draw again.

"I was never stationed there permanently; they promptly put me on the first caravan to Kirkwall when I joined up." No sense lying about things that are easy to verify, Julius has always thought. "I've been to Skyhold a time or two on business since, though. It's beautiful, but a bit less lively than the Free Marches." Lively is one way to describe it. "I suspect we get better alcohol, since you don't have to transport it up a literal mountain."

[unshut]

"And, some might say, afforded a certain latitude of opinion." That too is simple a fact, easily verified. She's hardly been here a month, but is there a single week in which someone isn't kicking dirt over something over the sending crystals? Never mind the state of the place visible to the naked eye.

"Though I suppose that's less remarkable with the Kirkwall contingent having now formed its own independent outfit. I'd love to know who greased the Viscount's palm so well to afford us the continued use of the Gallows. That person must be a formidable card player."

[overharrowed]

"It doesn't take a long residence in the Gallows to suspect the Inquisition had a certain profile in mind when deciding who to send to the outpost." Rifters, mages, and general rabble-rousers featured prominently, and no one who's paying attention thinks it was a coincidence. He wonders if splitting away ultimately gave Skyhold what it wanted or just one more significant headache.

"As for your question, I'm afraid I couldn't say. We've still a few well-funded individual connections, but I wasn't privy to any particular arrangements. We've certainly cleared the low bar of leaving the Gallows in a better state than we found it, at least."

[unshut]

"That's a shame," --in clear reference to their unknown champion-- "I hear we're still in need a new Head of Diplomacy. I wonder if the aforementioned Madame de Cedoux might be tempted to return to the position should it remain vacant much longer."

Another round of discards and draws.

[overharrowed]

"I would be very much surprised if the thought had not at least occurred to her," he says, lightly, "but I'm afraid I've no particular insight on that score."

Perhaps a contradiction to the generally understood state of his relationship with the aforementioned. And interesting to follow with:

"We could certainly do worse, in my view, but I doubt that will surprise anyone particularly given her track record. Nor can I say any of the candidates from outside have been particularly impressive."

[unshut]

"I'm afraid that I can't claim to be well aware of her record, only the fact that she once held one. But as you say - it would be difficult to under perform compared to the candidates interviewed thus far."

She pauses, peering across the edge of her cards at him. As play sweeps back to her she passes the turn - evidently quite pleased with her hand at present. "I'll admit, I'm surprised that there is no ready volunteer among Riftwatch's ranks. You will have to forgive me for looking to you, Enchanter, but as a very junior member of the outfit here I find myself wondering if that isn't some kind of warning sign."

[overharrowed]

Whether or not he believes Fitcher lacks information on Petrana—certainly possible, but not entirely a given—he decides to let the assertion pass with nothing more than a small sigh at her evident pleasure or the state of his hand. (Or both.)

"I certainly don't think less of you for wondering about it," of her observation about volunteers. "I'd consider stepping forward myself, but I'm already up to my elbows as a project leader, to be honest. On the other hand, we're asking people to do a great deal with much less in the way of resources than we had when we were part of the Inquisition. I can't say I'm entirely shocked we're hard up for internal volunteers." He regrets Herian's departure, for all he was never close to her. If nothing else, the woman had an overly developed sense of responsibility.

[unshut]

"Ah, that's right. You oversee the investigation of our arch-nemesis, do you not?" Which is clearly a metaphorical question, as she asks another as she draws and discards accordingly: "Would you say our chances are promising?"

It could be a joke. Would they be here right now if they were?

[overharrowed]

"I'd say the odds continue to be better than they would be if we gave up," lightly. "Are you thinking of throwing your lot in with a particular project, yourself, or are you still taking the lay of the land?"

He's not actively recruiting... but he's not not recruiting, either, and Riftwatch could use more attention to his topics, in his own humble opinion. Everyone is important, of course. But some things feel a bit more pressing than others, and it's hard to argue that Corypheus—or red lyrium—should be de-prioritized.

[unshut]

"A particular project? No. But one can only file so much paperwork at the behest of the Lady Yseult, so I can hardly say that I'm turning down the offer of work either. If you have need of spare hands, I might be able to find one. Is there anything in your project a clerk might be of assistance with? I'm a more or less capable hand with figures and record keeping, Messere."

Oh please, sir. Do recruit her.

[overharrowed]

"Nothing offhand, but I'll keep you in mind." He draws another card, thoughtful. "I wonder, is the paperwork worse or better now that we're not a branch of the Inquisition? Fewer things in duplicate, likely."

He's not exactly fishing, but he's no less deliberate with his small talk than he is with his cards.