OPEN | THESE VIOLENT DELIGHTS

[imbroccata]

WHO: Character(s)
WHAT: Catch-all for Lino
WHEN: October, dates flexible
WHERE: Anywhere!
NOTES: CW for him being an awful person, blood probably, violence, etc. If you want a starter HMU and I'll make a closed prompt in the comments!

I. FIRST WATCH

Lino doesn't usually take first watch. He'd prefer to take the last watch, or not be in a camp with others where the watch has to be split between people he doesn't trust not to blind themselves with torches or by staring into a campfire when they need their eyes adjusted to darkness.

But here he is, on the outskirts of the camp, keeping an eye and an ear out for whoever might try sneaking up on them out here. Elves are a possibility, he's had his fair share of run-ins with the Dalish and not all of them ended peacefully. Bandits, of course. There are always bandits. Demons, the reason they're out here in the first place. He almost wishes that some demons would show up just to get it over with. But the soft footfall that calls his attention isn't from the surrounding woods, but from the direction of camp.

"You should be asleep," he says, not looking back to see who it is.

II. THEN LISTEN

He's just laid some poor sod flat in the training yard, having been roped into training recruits with a bo-staff. There've been some mages, looking to use their staves at close range for more than just magic, which actually didn't end terribly, but those were few and far between.

"Sloppy," he says, one end of his staff held under the chin of whoever he's just knocked prone. "You're still treating it like a thing in your hands. It should be an extension of your will." He steps back to the starting point, gesturing impatiently. "Again."

III. WILDCARD

[ surprise me ]

Comments

I

[doneisdone]

Teren is the sort of person whose footfalls are only ever audible for a reason: if someone hears her, it's because she wants to be heard. In this case, it's to avoid being mistaken for a bandit.

"I should be a lot of things," she replies unsmiling, "and yet." Glancing him over, Teren scrutinizes the fairly unfamiliar man.
"You've not been long with Riftwatch."

[imbroccata]

He affords Teren a sidelong glance below an arched brow.

"I have not."

[doneisdone]

"What brings you our way?"
She extracts a little flask from within her jacket, takes a pull, and hands it to him.

[imbroccata]

"A contract," he says simply. He takes the offered drink, then returns the flask. It isn't a dishonest answer; his agreement with Riftwatch is in itself a sort of contract. "And the war, apparently."

[doneisdone]

A snide chuckle. "Apparently," Teren repeats, enjoying the joke, as she perceives it. Taking another swig, she pockets the flask again.
"What sort of contract?"

[imbroccata]

By his estimation, Teren is either unaware of his background, or trying to get him to admit to it in his own words. A test, of some kind? He knows just how fast news travels through Riftwatch, whose gossip is more pernicious than the most bourgeois parlor in Val Royeaux.

"The usual fare for Crows," he says, dismissive, but turning to lean against the tree he's beside, facing her. His tone stays unaffected, as if the subject is rote. "Go here, kill him, go there, kill her."

[doneisdone]

She doesn't actually hear the rest of what he says after the word 'Crows', because that in itself is like a dash of cold water from her brain to her guts.
It may be taking her a little too long to respond, but when Teren finally does, her voice and posture are as measured as ever.

"Sent to kill someone, were you," she replies, almost politely.

[imbroccata]

Iiiinteresting. He lets her assumption hang there for a moment, about the amount of time it took for her to process what he is.

"Nobody in Riftwatch," He says coolly. "But yes."

[doneisdone]

Unconsciously, her hand has eased out one of the blades nestled in the cuff of her jacket, and she holds it lightly between her fingers. It's no dagger, but it'll do in an emergency: at least the kind of emergency where a person's throat needs to be cut, or another major artery severed.

"In its vicinity, then," she guesses, angling her head towards the man, the moonlight glinting off her good eye.

[imbroccata]

"Possibly," he tips his head in some shade of a shrug. "Won't know until I find him, but so far it's not looking like it."

No, I'm not here to kill you.

[doneisdone]

Him. Could be the truth, could be a ruse, could be...

...she won't even entertain the thought.

"I'd say I'm surprised they let you in," she levelly replies, "but let's not kid ourselves."

[imbroccata]

He chuckles. “Desperate times. With how fast word travels through the Gallows, I’m surprised you didn’t already know how I came to be here.” Not one, but two attempts to hire him. “Especially after I broke that young Nevarran’s nose. Perhaps he’s not the bragging type.”

[doneisdone]

It's due to her own foolishness, her own self-absorption, Teren has no doubt of it. But then, something catches her attention.
"Which young Nevarran," she says, carefully.

[imbroccata]

“Kostos Averesch, che stronzino.”

[doneisdone]

She grunts, a little impressed. However,

"should've been the other one."

[imbroccata]

“I’m sure there will be more opportunities,” he says, a tinge of regret over punching the lesser of the two nuisances. “They both seem the type who need to be put in their place after every other word.”

[doneisdone]

A dry laugh escapes Teren, despite her caution. She obviously can't trust the man any farther than she can throw him, but at least he's got a sense of humor.
...well one that aligns with hers, anyway.

"The skinny one's a shit, but." She shakes her head. Fucking kids. "Riftwatch needs a pillory for Nikos alone."

[imbroccata]

Lino gives a similar laugh, more an expulsion of air and a smirk than anything. "Perhaps if plied with enough drink he'd build it himself."

Not that he could imagine Nikos even lifting a hammer. No matter his incendiary demeanor, the man comes across like a noble shouting about what should be done from the comfort of his salon while markedly doing nothing about it himself.

[doneisdone]

Another snort, and the flask comes back out (speaking of being plied with drink) for another pull. She passes it over again.
"He'd give himself a splinter and cry injustice," she says, enjoying the mental image. "We'd have to build it for him, and he'd berate us all the while."

[imbroccata]

He accepts the flask, shaking his head. Another drink, and the flask is back in Teren's hands. "The damn fool would burn the Gallows down as retribution for that splinter."

Nikos is a perfect example of a fool who cares too much.

[doneisdone]

She takes the flask back with a little sigh, shaking her head. Guess they're friends now.