[open/intro] gimme shelter.

[justashotaway]

WHO: Laura Kint + YOU
WHAT: Laura shows up for...work? Kind of work. She shows up to stab things and eat food and maybe frown at ghost costumes.
WHEN: The first week(ish) of August
WHERE: The Gallows, Kirkwall
NOTES: Please consider filling out Laura's permissions if you haven't already. CW TBD.

all souls.

Laura has never celebrated All Soul's Day before, which makes her first night in Kirkwall...unusual. People dressed as ghosts, bonfires everywhere, the smell of sweets masking some of the city's riper odors. Tomorrow, she'll go to the Gallows and demand entry, payment, protection--whatever it is she can expect from them at this point. That Riftwatch is no longer the Inquisition hadn't been carried as rumor to her corner of Cumberland (or if it had, she hadn't noticed), but it sounds as though they no longer have the same kind of favor they once did. It is a concern.

But a concern of unknown quantities, and that means it is for tomorrow. Tonight, she is in Kirkwall, where everyone around her seems to be pretending to be dead.

"Is it always like this?" she asks in slightly accented Trade, frowning at a huge pile branches about to be set afire.

eyrie.

She's never seen griffons before, either, and she's not sure she quite believes her eyes. Laura smells them first and follows the scent--an animal, clearly, but one she doesn't recognize, feathers and fur all at once--up and up stone steps until she's at the top of a tower, in the middle of a doorway.

One of the creatures looks at her, and she looks back levelly, her tentative fascination nowhere close to her face. It's like something out of a fairy tale, stopping her in her tracks. Hope you weren't planning to get through: she's going to be rooted to the spot for a bit, wary of getting too close to the beasts but evidently fascinated by them.

dinner.

She has, however, eaten before. And around other people, no less, though she gives approximately no care toward others' sensibilities when she's presented with food. It doesn't matter what it is, only that it's there and she hasn't had to do anything to get it except promise to fight for Riftwatch.

Coming to Kirkwall was a long walk through endless forests, one she's still hungry from. While she'd eaten reasonably well at times--nugs, mostly--it wasn't quite enough by the time she'd actually arrived at the Gallows.

At every meal for the first few days, she eats with determined speed. The claw over her right forefinger comes out, ghostly and terribly dangerous all at once, every time she needs to slice something or jab a morsel off a serving tray.

sparring.

It's no surprise that she ends up at the armory complex--someone probably told her to go there, for one thing, and for another, fighting's one of the things she knows intimately. And she stays in that area for some time, watching sparring matches with grim fascination, as if she's memorizing each move.

Ask her if she needs a weapon, and she'll shake her head. One hand goes up, two not-quite-there claws shimmer from between her knuckles.

Ask her if she wants to try a round, and that will get a nod. Having replaced (possibly by stealing) her worn, ill-fitting skirt for pair of black breeches, she's even more ready for a fight than usual.

around.

Laura's a small, human woman around sixteen or seventeen, who dresses entirely in black and skulks around the Gallows like she's still not sure she belongs there. She spends a good deal of time at the tops of towers, near windows, climbing things that probably shouldn't be climbed, and lurking in dark corners. She might enter your room to investigate it, without thinking about the fact that it's yours. Or she might stare a little too long, like she's trying to understand something or decide something. Maybe you're the person she took a pair of breeches from, or a pair of boots. It's not so hard to find her in the library, near the herb gardens, or perched on windowsills. When she's actively trying to conceal herself, she's more difficult to pick out from the rafters.

If you want to plot something specific, please reach out! Let's make your dreams come true.

Comments

[justashotaway]

Too late. Laura's already backed into a fighting stance, claws glowing in the dim light of the eyrie. She growls, staring up at the creature's heavy beak and trying to guess just how much damage it can cause a person.

The sound of someone else's voice is only a peripheral consideration at this point, something to take edging steps toward. If the beast attempts to strike, two on one will be better odds.

[aforethought]

The griffon hisses back, eyes widening for the gleam of lyrium. Its neck lifts --

Is caught, abruptly, in a headlock.

"I said, give it a," There's a woman hanging off the end of that bird, now pacing back to try and shake her. "Fucking,"

Melys finally notices Laura.

"Put those away." Has not, exactly, clocked what Those are. "Wants the bloody things."

[justashotaway]

Laura hears and ignores the woman, her knees bending like she's considering launching herself forward, claws-first. While the creature is threatening her, she is not going to make herself vulnerable--that's a fool's errand.

The only response she gives is another growl, louder this time. Back down, beaked thing.

[aforethought]

For the Maker's love, it's like she's the only one around here got any social skills —

"Swear to fuck," Stump swings up in warning (needs the hand where it's wrapped around a beak). Huffed out, between smothering squawks of protest. "You don't back off, there's twenty more of these."

[justashotaway]

And the creature's still looking at her like it wants to bite, and Laura's still looking back like she wants to stab--but she does not want to lose a hand. Four claws would be worse than six. With one more angry, impotent growl, she lets the claws disappear into nothing.

"What is it." Too frustrated to quite sound like a question. The line of her remains tense, hands still up before her; she could dive at the thing and bite it, if she had to. Bury a foot in its breast and cut.

[aforethought]

Melys squints stupidly between hands and face —

But probably she's only palmed the things. Monster twists its head enough to spy the prize gone, muscles slackening in confusion, then disinterest. Melys huffs a breath, turns aside to catch another,

"Pain in my ass is what." But Laura can't really be blamed, not knowing (extinction's a twat): "Griffon. What're you?"

It's not like she keeps track of their personnel, but most of their personnel don't try and gut her bird.

[justashotaway]

When the creature backs down, Laura begins to as well--but slowly, and not all the way. Her hands lower. The tense stance stays.

"Nothing," she answers, a rote response. Human, technically, with round ears buried under her dark hair, but she does not feel like a human. Not the way other humans seem to. "Griffons do not exist."

Even with one standing before her, smelling like nothing else in the world. She knows from a story, from long ago, and asking the woman who was her mother if griffons and dragons were real. Dragons, yes. Griffons, no. It is a blow to have her knowledge changed.

forgive me i keep meaning to replace these icons and have just never gotten around to it

[aforethought]

She snorts.

"Nothing on nothing's a shit fight." Monster pulls free, shoves her off to pace for the back of the aerie. Melys sways off-balance, swipes white fur from her side. "Oughta know better than that."

it's okay i think they're beautiful

[justashotaway]

"I did not start it," she answers, her gaze fixed on the creature--the griffon--as it stalks away. It is dangerous, that much is clear, but it is...it is something besides dangerous, too. Large, and strong, and admirable in its readiness to do battle.

[aforethought]

"She wants your," Whatever. Splays her fingers (a shimmer of green from her mark). "The knives. Goes a right idiot for anything what catches the light."

[justashotaway]

"They aren't knives." Absently, paying little mind to the woman's explanation. Laura's posture finally begins to relax as she takes a single step forward, considering the possibility of coming close enough to touch. If she strategizes, the griffon might allow it.